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THE GESTE OF DUKE JOCELYN 


HBb iFamol 

The Broad Highway 
The Amateur Gentleman 
The Honourable Mr. Tawnish 
Beltane the Smith 
The Definite Object 
Great Britain at War 
Our Admirable Betty 
The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 



THE GESTE OF 
DUKE JOCELYN 


BY 

JEFFERY FARNOL y 



BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
1920 









Copyright, 1920, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 


All rights reserved 


NorfoooU $reaa 

Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 




PRELUDE 


Long, long ago when castles grim did frown. 

When massy wall and gate did ’fend each town; 
When mighty lords in armour bright were seen. 

And stealthy outlaws lurked amid the green 
And oft were hanged for poaching of the deer, 

Or, gasping, died upon a hunting spear; 

When barons bold did on their rights insist 
And hanged or burned all rogues who dared resist; 
When humble folk on life had no freehold 
And were in open market bought and sold; 

When grisly witches (lean and bony hags) 

Cast spells most dire yet, meantime, starved in rags; 
When kings did lightly a-crusading fare 
And left their kingdoms to the devil’s care — 

At such a time there lived a noble knight 
Who sweet could sing and doughtily could fight, 
Whose lance thrust strong, whose long sword bit 
full deep 

With darting point or mighty two-edged sweep. 

A duke was he, rich, powerful — and yet 
Fate had on him a heavy burden set, 

For, while a youth, as he did hunt the boar, 

The savage beast his goodly steed did gore. 

And as the young duke thus defenceless lay, 

With cruel tusk had reft his looks away, 

Had marred his comely features and so mauled him 
That, ’hind his back, “The ugly Duke” folk called 
him- 

My daughter Gillian interposeth: 

Gill : An ugly hero ? 

Myself : That is so. 


I 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 


Gill : 
Myself : 
Gill: 
Myself : 
Gill: 


Myself : 

Gill: 
Myself : 
Gill : 
Myself : 


Gill: 
Myself : 
Gill: 
Myself : 
Gill : 
Myself : 


An ugly hero, father ? 0, absurd ! 

Whoever of an “ugly’* hero heard? 

I ’ll own, indeed, I’ve come across but 
few- 

But a duke — and ugly ! Father, this from 
you? 

My duke is ugly, very, for good reason, 

As shall appear in due and proper season ! 

I’m sure no one will want to read him then. 
For “heroes” all should be most handsome 
men. 

So make him handsome, please, or he won’t do. 
By heaven, girl — no, plain heroes are too 
few! 

Then ev’ry one will leave him on the shelf! 
Why, then, I ’ll read the poor fellow myself. 

I won’t! 

Then don’t! 

Though, I might say, since you ’re set on it, 
child, 

My duke was not so ugly when he smiled- 

Then make him Smile as often as you can. 

I might do that, ’t is none so bad a plan. 

And the lady — she must be a lady fair. 

My dear, she’s beautiful beyond compare. 

Why, then- 

My pen! 


So here and now I do begin 
The tale of young Duke Jocelyn, 
For critics, schools, 

And cramping rules, 

Heedless and caring not a pin. 


The title here behold 
On this fair page enrolled, 
In letters big and bold. 

As seemeth fit — 

To wit: — 


2 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 


FYTTE 1 

Upon a day, but when it matters not, 

Nor where, but mark! the sun was plaguy hot 
Falling athwart a long and dusty road 
In which same dust two dusty fellows strode. 

One was a tall, broad-shouldered, goodly wight 
In garb of motley like a jester dight, 

Fool’s cap on head with ass’s ears a-swing, 

While, with each stride, his bells did gaily ring; 

But, ’neath his cock’s-comb showed a face so marred 
With cheek, with brow and lip so strangely scarred 
As might scare tender maid or timid child 
Unless, by chance, they saw him when he smiled, 
For then his eyes, so deeply blue and bright. 

Did hold in them such joyous, kindly light, 

That sorrow was from heavy hearts beguiled — 

This jester seemed less ugly when he smiled. 

Here, O my Gill, right deftly, in a trice 
I Ve made him smile and made him do it — twice. 

That’t was the Duke of course you Ve guessed at once 
Since you, I know, are nothing of a dunce. 

But, what should bring a duke in cap and bells ? 

Read on and mark, while he the reason tells. 

Now, ’spite of dust and heat, his lute he strummed, 
And snatches of a merry song he hummed, 

The while askance full merrily he eyed 
The dusty knave who plodded at his side. 

A bony fellow, this, and long of limb, 

3 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

His habit poor, his aspect swart and grim; 

His belt to bear a long broad-sword did serve, 

His eye was bold, his nose did fiercely curve 
Down which he snorted oft and (what is worse) 
Beneath his breath gave vent to many a curse. 
Whereat the Duke, sly laughing, plucked lute¬ 
string 

And thus, in voice melodious did sing: 

“Sir Pertinax, why curse ye so? 

Since thus in humble guise we go 
We merry chances oft may know, 

Sir Pertinax of Shene.” 

“And chances woeful, lord, also!” 

Quoth Pertinax of Shene. 

“To every fool that passeth by 
These foolish bells shall testify 
That very fool, forsooth, am I, 

Good Pertinax of Shene !” 

“And, lord, methinks they ’ll tell no lie!” 
Growled Pertinax of Shene. 

Then spake the Knight in something of a pet, 

“Par Dex, lord Duke — plague take it, how I sweat, 
By Cock, messire, ye know I have small lust 
Like hind or serf to tramp it i’ the dust! 

Per De, my lord, a parch-ed pea am I — 

I’m all athirst! Athirst ? I am so dry 
My very bones do rattle to and fro 
And jig about within me as I go! 

Why tramp we thus, bereft of state and rank ? 

Why go ye, lord, like foolish mountebank ? 

And whither doth our madcap journey trend ? 

And wherefore? Why? And, prithee, to what end?” 

4 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Then quoth the Duke, “See yonder in the green 
Doth run a cooling water-brook I ween, 

Come, Pertinax, beneath yon shady trees, 

And there whiles we do rest outstretched at ease 
Thy ‘wherefores’ and thy ‘whys’ shall answered be, 
And of our doings I will counsel thee.” 

So turned they from the hot and dusty road 
Where, ’mid green shade, a rill soft-bubbling flowed, 
A brook that leapt and laughed in roguish wise, 
Whereat Sir Pertinax with scowling eyes 
Did frown upon the rippling water clear, 

And sware sad oaths because it was not beer; 
Sighful he knelt beside this murmurous rill, 

Bent steel-clad head and bravely drank his fill. 

Then sitting down, quoth he: “By Og and Gog, 

I ’ll drink no more — nor horse am I nor dog 
To gulp down water — pest, I hate the stuff!” 

“Ah!” laughed the Duke, “’tis plain hast had 
enough, 

And since well filled with water thou dost lie 
To answer thee thy questions fain am I. 

First then — thou art in lowly guise bedight, 

For that thou art my trusty, most-loved knight. 
Who at my side in many a bloody fray, 

With thy good sword hath smit grim Death 
away-” 

“Lord,” quoth the Knight, “what’s done is past 
return, 

’T is of our future doings I would learn.” 

“Aye,” said the Duke, “list, Pertinax, and know 
’T is on a pilgrimage of love we go : 

Mayhap hast heard the beauty and the fame 
Of fair Yolande, that young and peerless dame 

S 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

For whom so many noble lovers sigh 
And with each other in the lists do vie ? 

Though much I’ve dreamed of sweet Yolanda’s 
charms 

My days have passed in wars and feats of arms, 

For, Pertinax, this blemished face I bear, 

Should fright, methinks, a lady young and fair. 

And so it is that I have deemed it wiser 
To hide it when I might ’neath casque and 
visor-” 

Hereat Sir Pertinax smote hand to knee 

And, frowning, shook his head. “Messire,” said he, 

“Thou art a man, and young, of noble race, 

And, being duke, what matter for thy face ? 

Rank, wealth, estate — these be the things I trow 
Can make the fairest woman tender grow. 

Ride unto her in thy rich armour dight, 

With archer, man-at-arms, and many a knight 
To swell thy train with pomp and majesty, 

That she,' and all, thy might and rank may see; 

So shall all folk thy worthiness acclaim, 

And her maid’s heart, methinks, shall do the same. 
Thy blemished face shall matter not one jot; 

To mount thy throne she ’ll think a happy lot. 

So woo her thus-” 

“So will I woo her not!” 
Quoth Jocelyn, “For than I’d win her so, 

Alone and loveless all my days I’d go. 

Ha, Pertinax, ’spite all thy noble parts, 

’T is sooth ye little know of women’s hearts! ” 

“Women?” quoth Pertinax, and scratched his jaw, 
“ ’T is true of dogs and horses I know more. 

And dogs do bite, and steeds betimes will balk. 

And fairest women, so they say, will talk.” 

6 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

‘‘And so dost thou, my Pertinax, and yet, 

’Spite all thy talk, my mind on this is set — 

Thus, in all lowliness I ’ll e’en go to her 
And ’neath this foolish motley I will woo her. 

And if, despite this face, this humble guise, 

I once may read love’s message in her eyes, 

Then Pertinax — by all the Saints, ’t will be 
The hope of all poor lovers after me. 

These foolish bells a deathless tale shall ring. 

And of Love’s triumph evermore shall sing. 

“So, Pertinax, ne’er curse ye so 
For that in lowly guise we go, 

We many a merry chance may know, 

Sir Pertinax of Shene.” 

“And chances evil, lord, also!” 

Quoth Pertinax of Shene. 

Now on a sudden, from the thorny brake. 

E’en as Sir Pertinax thus doleful spake. 

Leapt lusty loons and ragged rascals four, 

Rusty their mail, yet bright the swords they bore. 

Up sprang Sir Pertinax with gleeful shout, 

Plucked forth his blade and fiercely laid about. 

“Ha, rogues! Ha, knaves! Most scurvy dogs!” he 
cried. 

While point and edge right lustily he plied 
And smote to earth the foremost of the crew. 

Then, laughing, pell-mell leapt on other two. 

The fourth rogue’s thrust, Duke Joc’lyn blithely 
parried 

Right featly with the quarter-staff he carried. 

Then ’neath the fellow’s guard did nimbly slip 
And caught him in a cunning wrestler’s grip. 

Now did they reel and stagger to and fro, 

And on the ling each other strove to throw; 

7 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Arm locked with arm they heaved, they strove and 
panted, 

With mighty shoulders bowed and feet firm-planted. 
So on the sward, with golden sunlight dappled, 

In silence grim they tussled, fiercely grappled. 

Thus then Duke Jocelyn wrestled joyously, 

For this tall rogue a lusty man was he, 

But, ’spite his tricks and all his cunning play. 

He in the Duke had met his match this day, 

As, with a sudden heave and mighty swing, 

Duke Jocelyn hurled him backwards on the ling, 
And there he breathless lay and sore amazed, 

While on the Duke with wonderment he gazed: 

“A Fool?” he cried. “Nay, certes fool, per De, 
Ne’er saw I fool, a fool the like o’ thee!” 

But now, e’en as the Duke did breathless stand. 

Up strode Sir Pertinax, long sword in hand: 
“Messire,” he growled, “my rogues have run away, 
So, since you ’ve felled this fellow, him I ’ll slay.” 

“Not so,” the Duke, short-breathing, made reply, 
“Methinks this rogue is too much man to die.” 

“How?” cried the Knight; “not slay a knave — a 
thief ? 

Such clemency is strange and past belief! 

Mean ye to let the dog all scathless go?” 

“Nay,” said the Duke, square chin on fist, “not so, 
For since the rogue is plainly in the wrong 
The rogue shall win his freedom with a song, 

And since forsooth a rogue ingrain is he, 

So shall he sing a song of roguery. 

Rise, roguish rogue, get thee thy wind and sing, 

Pipe me thy best lest on a tree ye swing!” 

8 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Up to his feet the lusty outlaw sprang, 

And thus, in clear melodious voice, he sang: 

“I ’ll sing a song not over long, 

A song of roguery. 

For I’m a rogue, and thou ’rt a rogue, 

And so, in faith, is he. 

And we are rogues, and ye are rogues, 

All rogues in verity. 

“As die we must and turn to dust, 

Since each is Adam’s son, 

A rogue was he, so rogues are we, 

And rascals every one. 

“ The Abbot sleek with visage meek, 

With candle, book and bell, 

Our souls may curse, we ’re none the worse, 
Since he’s a rogue as well. 

“My lord aloft doth hang full oft 
Poor rogues the like o’ me, 

But all men know where e’er he go 
A greater rogue is he. 

“ The king abroad with knight and lord 
Doth ride in majesty, 

But strip him bare and then and there 
A shivering rogue ye ’ll see. 

“Sirs, if ye will my life to spill. 

Then hang me on a tree, 

Since rogue am I, a rogue I ’ll die, 

A roguish death for me. 

“But i’ the wind the leaves shall find 
Small voices for my dole, 

9 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And when I’m dead sigh o’er my head 
Prayers for my poor rogue soul; 

For I’m a rogue, and thou ’rt a rogue. 

And so in faith is he, 

As we are rogues, so ye are rogues. 

All rogues in verity.” 

The singing done, the Duke sat lost in thought, 
What time Sir Pertinax did stamp and snort: 

“Ha, by the Mass ! Now, by the Holy Rood ! 

Ne’er heard I roguish rant so bold and lewd! 

He should be whipped, hanged, quartered, flayed 
alive-” 

“Then,” quoth the Duke, “pay him gold pieces 
five,” 

“How — pay a rogue?” the Knight did fierce 
retort. 

“A ribald’s rant — give good, gold pieces for’t? 

A plague ! A pest! The knave should surely die- 99 

But here he met Duke Joc’lyn’s fierce blue eye, 

And silent fell and in his poke did dive, 

And slowly counted thence gold pieces five, 

Though still he muttered fiercely ’neath his breath. 
Such baleful words as : “ ’S blood ! ” and “ ’S bones ! ” 
and “’S death!” 

Then laughed the Duke and from the greenwood 
strode; r 

But scarce was he upon the dusty road, 

Than came the rogue who, louting to his knee: 

“O Fool! Sir Fool! Most noble Fool!” said he. 
“Either no fool, or fool forsooth thou art. 

That dareth thus to take an outlaw’s part. 

Yet, since this day my rogue’s life ye did spare, 

So now by oak, by ash, by thorn I swear — 

IO 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And mark, Sir Fool, and to my saying heed — 
Shouldst e’er lack friends to aid thee in thy need 
Come by this stream where stands a mighty oak, 

Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightning stroke, 

Hid in this cleft a hunting-horn ye ’ll see. 

Take then this horn and sound thereon notes three. 
So shall ye find the greenwood shall repay 
The roguish life ye spared a rogue this day.” 

So spake he; then, uprising from his knees. 

Strode blithe away and vanished ’mid the trees. 
Whereat Sir Pertinax shook doleful head: 

“There go our good gold pieces, lord !” he said. 
“Would that yon rogue swung high upon a tree. 
And in my poke our gold again might be. 

Full much I marvel, lord, and fain would know 
Wherefore and why unhanged didst let him go?” 

Then answered the Duke singing on this wise: 

“Good Pertinax, if on a tree 
Yon rogue were swinging high 
A deader rogue no man could see — 

‘He’s but a rogue!’ says you to me, 

‘But a living rogue !’ says I. 

“And sinc^ he now alive doth go 
More honest he may die, 

Yon rogue an honest man may grow, 

If we but give him time, I trow, 

Says I to you, says I.” 

At this, Sir Pertinax growled in his beard- 

My daughter Gillian interrupteth : 

Gill : A beard ? O father — beard will never do ! 

No proper knight a beard ever grew, J 

II 





The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

No knight could really romantic be 
Who wore a beard ! So, father, to please me. 
No beard; they are, I think, such scrubby 
things- 

Myself : Yet they are worn, sometimes, by poets and 
kings. 

Gill : But your knight- 

Myself : Oh, all right, 

My Gill, from your disparagement to save 
him, 

I, like a barber, will proceed to shave him. 

Sir Pertinax, then, stroked his smooth-shaved chin, 
And thus to curse he softly did begin, 

“ Par Dex, my lord-” 

My daughter gillian interposeth: 

Gill: Your knight, dear father, seems to love to 

curse. 

Myself : He does. A difficult matter, child, in 
verse- 

Gill : Of verse I feel a little tired- 

Myself : Why, if you think a change desired, 

A change we ’ll have, for, truth to tell, 

This rhyming bothers me as well. 

So here awhile we ’ll sink to prose. 

Now, are you ready ? Then here goes ! 

“Par Dex, my lord!” growled Sir Pertinax. “A 
malison on’t, says I, saving thy lordly grace, yet a 
rogue is a rogue and, being rogue, should die right 
roguishly as is the custom and the law. For if, 
messire, if — per De and by Our Sweet Lady of 
Shene Chapel within the Wood, if, I say, in thy new 
and sudden-put-on attitude o’ folly, thou wilt save 
alive all rogues soever, then by Saint Cuthbert his 
curse, by sweet Saint Benedict his blessed bones, 
by-” 


12 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Hold now, Pertinax,” said the Duke, slipping his 
lute into leathern bag and slinging it behind wide 
shoulders, “list ye, Sir Knight of Shene, and mark 
this, to wit: If a rogue in roguery die then rogue is 
he forsooth; but, mark this again, if a rogue be 
spared his life he may perchance and peradventure 
forswear, that is, eschew or, vulgarly speaking, 
turn from his roguish ways, and die as honest as I, 
aye, or even — thou ! ” 

Here Sir Pertinax snorted as they strode on to¬ 
gether, yet in a little they turned aside from the hot 
and dusty road and journeyed on beneath the trees 
that grew thereby. 

“By all the fiends, my lord, and speaking vulgarly 
in turn, this belly o’ mine lacketh, these my bowels 
do yearn consumedly unto messes savoury and cates 
succulent-” 

Whereat the Duke, smiling merry-eyed, chanted 
roguishly: 

“A haunch o’ venison juicy from the spit now?” 
“Aha!” groaned the Knight, “Lord, let us 
haste-” 

“A larded capon to thee might seem fit now?” 
“Saints!” sighed the Knight, “but for one little 
taste.” 

“Or, Pertinax, a pasty plump and deep-” 

“Ha — pasty, by the Mass!” the Knight did cry. 

“Or pickled tongue of neat, Sir Knight, or 
sheep-” 

“Oh, for a horse! For wings wherewith to fly-” 

“Or breast of swan-” 

“Stay! nay, my lord, ha’ mercy!” groaned Sir 
Pertinax, wiping moist brow. “Picture no more 
toothsome dainties to my soul lest for desire I 
swoon and languish by the way. I pray thee, let us 
haste, sire, so may we reach fair Canalise ere sunset 
13 






The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

— yet stay! Hearken, messire, hear ye aught ? 
Sure, afar the tocsin soundeth?” 

Now hearkening thus, they both became aware 
Of distant bells that throbbed upon the air, 

A faint, insistent sound that rose and fell, 

A clamour vague that ominous did swell. 

As thus they stood, well hidden from the road, 
Footsteps they heard of feet that briskly strode. 
And, through the leaves, a small man they espied. 
Who came apace, a great sword by his side. 

Large bascinet upon his head he bore, 

’Neath which his face a scowd portentous wore; 
While after toiled a stout but reverend friar 
Who, scant of breath, profusely did perspire 
And, thus perspiring, panted sad complaints 
Thus — on the heat, his comrade and the Saints. 

“O Bax, O Bax ! Saint Cuthbert aid me now! 

O Bax, see how to sweat thou ’st made me now! 

Thy speed abate ! O sweet Saint Dominic ! 

Why pliest thou thy puny shanks so quick; 

O day ! O Bax ! O hot, sulphurous day, 

My flesh betwixt ye melteth fast away. 

Come, sit ye, Bax, in shade of yon sweet tree, 

And, sitting soft, I’ll sagely counsel thee.” 

“Not so, in faith,” the small man, scowling, said, 
“What use for counsel since the cause be fled? 

And since she’s fled—Saints succour us !” he cried; 
As ’mid the leaves all suddenly he spied 
Sir Pertinax in his unlovely trim, 

His rusty mail, his aspect swart and grim — 

“Ha!” gasped the little man, “we are beset!” 

And starting back, off fell his bascinet. 

Whereat he fiercely did but scowl the more, 

14 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And strove amain his ponderous sword to draw. 
“Hence, dog!” he cried, “lest, with my swashing 
blow, 

I make thee food for carrion kite and crow.” 

But in swift hands Sir Pertinax fast caught him 
And, bearing him on high, to Joc’lyn brought him, 
Who, while the captive small strove vain aloft 
Reproved him thus in accents sweet and soft: 

“Right puissant and potential sir, we do beseech 
thee check thy ferocity, quell now thy so great 
anger and swear not to give our flesh for fowls to 
tear, so shalt thou come down to earth and stand 
again upon thine own two legs. And thou, most 
reverend friar, invoke now thy bloody-minded 
comrade that he swear to harm us not!” 

The stout friar seated himself hard by beneath a 
tree, mopped moist brow, fetched his wind and 
smiled. 

“Sir Fool,” said he, “I am thy security that thou 
and thy brawny gossip need quake and tremble 
nothing by reason of this Bax, our valiant reeve — 
he shall harm ye no whit.” Here, meeting Jocelyn’s 
eye, Sir Pertinax set down the small Reeve, who 
having taken up and put on his great bascinet, 
scowled, whereupon Duke Jocelyn questioned him 
full meek: 

“Good master Reeve, of your courtesy pray you 
tell us why yon bells do ring so wild alarm.” 

The small Reeve viewed him with disdainful eye; 
Sniffed haughty nose and proudly made reply: 

“Our bells we ring and clamour make, because 
We’ve lost our lady fair of Tissingors. 

Our Duchess Benedicta hath this day 

T S 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

From all her worthy guardians stole away. 

Thus we for her do inquisition make, 

Nor, ’till she’s found, may hope our rest to take, 
And thus w^e cause such outcry as we may, 

Since we lose not our Duchess ev’ry day. 

So then we’d have ye speak us — aye or no, 

Saw ye our errant lady this way go ? 

And, that ye may her know for whom we seek, 

Her just description fully I will speak: 

Her hair night-black, her eyes the self-same hue. 
Her habit brown, unless’t were red or blue, 

And if not blue why then mayhap’t is green, 

Since she by turns of all such hues is seen-” 

“Stay, sir,” quoth Jocelyn, “’tis plain to see 
No maid but a chameleon is she, 

For here we have her brown and green and blue, 
And if not brown then rosy is her hue, 

And, if not red, why then’t is very plain 
That brown she is or blue or green again. 

Now fain, sir, would I ask and question whether 
She e’er is seen these colours all together ? 

“ O fain would I a lady spy, 

By countryside or town, 

Who may be seen all blue and green, 

Unless she’s red or brown.” 

But now, while fierce the little man did scowl, 

The rosy Friar, sly-smiling ’neath his cowl, 

His visage meek, spake thus in dulcet tone: 

“Sir Fool, our Reeve is something mixed, I ’ll own, 
Though he by divers colours is bemused, 

Learn ye this truth, so shall he stand excused: 

Our Duchess Benedicta, be it known, 

Hath this day from her several guardians flown. 

16 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Ten worthy men her several guardians be, 

Of whom the chief and worthiest ye see, 

As first — myself, a friar of some report. 
Well-known, methinks, in country, town and court. 
Who as all men can unto all men speak. 

Well read beside in Latin and in Greek, 

A humble soul albeit goodly preacher, 

One apt to learn and therefore learned teacher. 

One who can laugh betimes, betimes can pray, 

Who ’ll colic cure or on the bagpipe play. 

Who ’ll sing-” 

“Stay!” cried the Reeve. “Friar, what 
o’ me?” 

“Patience, O Bax, too soon I ’ll come to thee! 

Who ’ll sing ye then blithe as a bird on bough-” 

“Friar!” growled the Reeve, “the time for me is 
now!” 

“So be it, then,” the Friar did gently say, 

“I ’ll speak of thee as truly as I may: 

Here then behold our port-reeve, Greg’ry Bax, 

Who, save for reason, naught in reason lacks. 

Who, though he small and puny seems to shew, 

In speech he is Goliath-like, I trow. 

Chief Councillor of Tissingors is he, 

And of the council second but — to me. 

For with the townsfolk first of all come I-” 

Reeve : Since thy fat finger is in every pie- 

“Saving your reverend grace,” Duke Joc’lyn said, 
“What of this maid that turneth green and red?” 

Reeve : Fool, then learn this, ere that our lord 
duke died, 

Ten guardians for his child he did provide, 

The Friar and I, with men of lesser fame, 
Co-guardians are of this right puissant dame. 

17 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Jocelyn : Beseech ye, sir, now tell us an’ ye may. 
Why hath thy youthful Duchess run away ? 

“Fair Fool,” quoth the Friar, fanning himself 
with a frond of bracken, “’tis a hot day, a day 
reminiscent of the ultimate fate of graceless sinners, 
and I am like the day and languish for breath, yet, 
to thy so pertinent question I will, straightly and in 
few words, pronounce and answer thee, as followeth: 
Our Lady Benedicta hath run away firstly, brethren, 
for that being formed woman after Nature’s goodly 
plan she hath the wherewithal to walk, to leap, to 
skip or eke to run, as viz.: item and to wit — legs. 
Secondly, inquisitorial brethren, she ran for an 
excellent good reason — as observe — there was 
none to let or stay her. And thirdly, gentle and 
eager hearers, she did flit or fly, leave, vacate, or 
depart our goodly town of Tissingors for that she 
had — mark me — no mind to stay, remain or abide 
therein. And this for the following express, rare 
and most curious reason as — mark now — in a 
word-” 

“Hold — hold, Friar John!” exclaimed the 
Reeve; “here sit ye here a-sermonising, venting 
words a-many what time our vanished Duchess 
fleeth. Knew I not the contrary I should say thou 
didst countenance her flight and spent thyself in 
wordy-wind wherewith to aid her ! ” 

Now here, chancing to meet Duke Jocelyn’s 
shrewd gaze, Friar John slowly and ponderously 
winked one round, bright eye. 

Quoth he: 

“Hark to our valiant port-reeve Greg’ry Bax 
Who, save for reason, nought of reason lacks!” 

18 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Howbeit,” fumed the Reeve, stamping in the 
dust, “here sit ye at thy full-bodied ease, fanning 

flies and animadverting-” 

“Animadverting !” nodded Friar John. “A good 
word, Reeve, a fair, sweet word; in verity a word 
full-bodied as I, wherefore it liketh me well. So 
sit I here animadverting whiles thou kicketh up a 
dust in fashion foolish and un-reeve-like.” 

“A plague o’ words!” cried the Reeve. “A 
pest o’ wind! Enough — enough, contain thy 
prolixities and rodomontade and let me to the point 
explain-” 

“Aha!” quoth the Friar. “Good sooth, here’s a 
noble word! A word round i’ the mouth, rolling 
upon the tongue. Ha, Reeve, I give thee joy of 
rodomontade!” 

“Thus then,” continued the Reeve, “I will, with 
use of no verbiage circumlocutory, explain.” 

“Ho-oho!” cried Friar John, rubbing plump 
hands ecstatic. “Good Bax, ne’er have I heard 
thee to so great advantage — verbiage circum¬ 
locutory — and thou — thou such small man to 
boot! O most excellent, puny Reeve!” 

Here the little man turned his back upon the 
Friar and continued hastily thus: 

“A lord there is, a lord of lofty pride, 

Who for our lady oft hath sued and sighed-” 

Friar John: Whom she as oft hath scornfully 
denied! 

The Reeve: A mighty lord who seeketh her to 
wife- 

Friar John: Though he, ’tis said, doth lead most 
evil life! 


19 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

The Reeve : To which fair lord our wilful maid 
we ’d wed- 

Friar John : Since this fair lord the council holds 
in dread! 

The Reeve : But she, defying us, this very day 
Like wicked thief hath stole herself away. 

Thus this poor lord such deeps of gloom is in 
Vows he ’ll not wash, nor shave again his chin 
Till found is she : He groaneth, sheddeth tears- 

The Friar : And swears her guardians ten shall lose 
their ears! 

The Reeve : Wherefore are we in mighty pertur¬ 
bation, 

Amazed, distraught and filled with consternation. 
Thus do our bells ring out their wild alarms, 

Our civic bands do muster under arms; 

Drums shall be drummed the countryside around, 
Until our truant Duchess we have found, 

And we have wed this most elusive dame 
Unto Sir Agramore of Biename. 

The Friar : And yield her thus to woes and bitter 
shame! 

The Reeve : So speak me, fellows; as ye came this 
way 

Saw ye aught of this wilful, errant may ? 

Answered Jocelyn: “Neither to-day nor any other 
day.” 

“Why then,” fumed the Reeve, “here have we 
been at great expense o’ breath and time and all to 
no purpose. Come, Friar, beseech thee, let us 
haste to begone.” 


20 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

So Friar John got slowly to his feet 
Complaining loud of hurry and of heat. 

But paused behind the hasteful Reeve to linger, 

And to plump nose he slyly laid plump finger. 

Now stood Sir Pertinax thoughtful, chin on fist, 
insomuch that Jocelyn, thrumming his lute, ques¬ 
tioned him: 

“Good Pertinax, how now 
What pond’rest thou 
With furrowed brow ? 

Thy care, Sir Knight, avow!” 

Saith Pertinax: “I meditate the way wondrous 
of woman, the frowardness of creatures feminine. 
For mark me, sir, here is one hath guardians ten, 
yet despite them she is fled away and they ten!” 

“Why truly, Pertinax, they are ten, so is she 
fled.” 

“Aye, but if they be ten that ward her and she 
one that would flee, how shall this one flee these 
ten ?” 

“For that they be ten.” 

“Nay, lord, here be twenty eyes to watch one 
young maid and twenty legs to pursue the same, yet 
doth she evade them one and all, and here ’s the 
wonder on ’t — she’s but one maid.” 

“Nay, there 9 s the reason on’t, Pertinax — she is 
a maid.” 

“The which is great matter for wonder, lord!” 

“Spoke like a very Pertinax, my Pertinax, for 
here’s no wonder at all. For perceive, the lady is 
young, her wardens ten grave seniors, worthy wights 
— solemn, sober and sedate, Pertinax, wise and 
wearisome, grave yet garrulous, and therefore they 
suffice not.” 


21 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Aye, prithee and wherefore not?” 

“For their divers worthy attributes and because 
they be — ten. Now had these ten been one and 
this one a very man — the man — here had been 
no running away on part of the lady, I ’ll warrant 
me?” 

“Stay, my lord,” said Pertinax, in deep perplexity, 
“how judge ye so — and wherefore — why and by 
what manner o’ reasoning?” 

“Ha, Pertinax!” laughed the Duke, “my lovely, 
loveless numskull!” So saying, he kicked the good 
Knight full joyously and so they trudged on again. 

Till presently, beyond the green of trees, 

They saw afar the town of Canalise, 

A city fair, couched on a gentle height, 

With walls embattled and strong towers bedight. 
Now seeing that the sun was getting low, 

Our travellers at quicker pace did go. 

Thus as in haste near to the gate they came, 

Before them limped a bent and hag-like dame, 

With long, sharp nose that downward curved as 
though 

It beak-like wished to peck sharp chin below. 
Humbly she crept in cloak all torn and rent, 

And o’er a staff her tottering limbs were bent. 

So came she to the gate, then cried in fear, 

And started back from sudden-levelled spear; 

For ’neath the gate lounged lusty fellows three 
Who seldom spake yet spat right frequently. 

“Kind sirs, good sirs,” the ancient dame did cry, 

“In mercy’s name I pray ye let me by-” 

But, as she spoke, a black-jowled fellow laughed, 
And, spitting, tripped her with out-thrust pike- 
shaft, 


22 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

That down she fell and wailed most piteously, 
Whereat the brawny fellows laughed all three. 

“Ha, witch!” they cried, as thus she helpless lay, 
“Shalt know the fire and roasted be one day!” 

Now as the aged creature wailed and wept, 

Forth to her side Duke Joc’lyn lightly stepped, 

With quarter-staff a-twirl he blithely came. 

Quoth he: “Messires, harm not this ancient dame, 
Bethink ye how e’en old and weak as she. 

Your wives and mothers all must one day be. 

So here then lies your mother, and’t were meeter 
As ye are sons that as sons ye entreat her. 

Come, let her by and, fool-like to requite ye. 

With merry jape and quip I will delight ye, 

Or with sweet song I ’ll charm those ass’s ears. 

And melt, belike, those bullish hearts to tears —*—” 

Now the chief warder, big and black of jowl, 

Upon the Duke most scurvily did scowl. 

“How now,” quoth he, “we want no fool’s-heads 
here-” 

“Sooth,” laughed the Duke, “you ’re fools enow 
’t is clear, 

Yet there be fools and fools, ye must allow, 

Gay fools as I and surly fools — as thou.” 

“Ha, look ’ee, Fool, Black Lewin e’en am I, 

And, by my head, an ill man to defy. 

Now, motley rogue, wilt call me fool?” he roared. 
And roaring fierce, clapped hairy fist on sword. 

“Aye, that will I,” Duke Joc’lyn soft replied, 

“And black-avised, swart, knavish rogue beside.” 

But now, while thus our ducal jester spoke, 

Black Lewin sprang and fetched him such a stroke 
23 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

That Jocelyn saw flash before his eyes, 

More stars that e’er he’d noticed in the skies. 
Whereat Sir Pertinax did gaping stare, 

Then ground his teeth and mighty oaths did swear. 
And in an instant bared his trusty blade, 

But then the Duke his fiery onslaught stayed. 

“Ha!” cried the Knight, “and wilt thou smitten be 
By such base knave, such filthy rogue as he?” 

“Nay,” smiled the Duke, “stand back and watch, 
good brother, 

A Rogue and Fool at buffets with each other.” 

And speaking thus, he leapt on Black Lewin, 

And smote him twice full hard upon the chin, 

Two goodly blows upon that big, black jowl, 
Whereat Black Lewin lustily did howl 
And falling back, his polished bascinet 
With ringing clash the cold, hard flagstones met. 
Whereat his fellows, shouting fierce alarms, 
Incontinent betook them to their arms 
And thus it seemed a fight there must have been 
But that a horseman sudden spurred between — 

A blue-eyed youth with yellow, curling hair, 

Of slender shape, of face and feature fair, 

A dainty knight was he in very truth, 

A blue-eyed, merry, laughter-loving youth. 

“Ha, knaves, what do ye with the Fool?” lisped he, 
“Wilt strike a motley, dogs — a Fool? Let be! 
Though faith, ’t would seem, Sir Fool, thou hast a 
fist 

That surly Lewin to his dole hath kissed. 

If it can strum thy lute but half as well, 

Then gestours all methinks thou should’st excel — 
24 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Ye rogues, pass Folly in, no man shall say 
That from our town we folly turned away. 

Come, follow, Fool, into the market-square, 

And give us earnest of thy foolish ware.” 

Now it was market day, and within the goodly 
square were people come from near and far, a nota¬ 
ble concourse, country folk and folk of the town, 
farmers and merchants, rustic maids, fair ladies, 
knights and esquires on horseback or a-foot, but who, 
hearing the jingle of the Duke’s tinkling bells, seeing 
his flaunting cock’s-comb, with one accord gathered 
to him from every quarter: 

For when this long-legged gestour they espied. 
They, laughing, hemmed him in on every side, 
And, “See, a Fool! A Fool! The Fool must sing,” 
And “Fool! A Fool!” upon the air did ring, 
Wherefore the Duke betook him to his lute, 

And strummed until the chattering crowd was mute. 
Then while all folk did hold their peace to hear, 

In golden voice he sang, full rich and clear: 

“ ‘A fool! A fool! ’ ye cry, 

A fool forsooth am I. 

But tell me, wise ones, if ye can, 

Where shall ye find a happy man ? 

Lived there one since the world began ? 

Come, answer ye 
To me! 

“ 6 What of the king ? ’ says you. 

Says I to you — ‘ Go to! 

A king despite his crown and throne, 

Hath divers troubles all his own. 

Such woes, methinks, as are unknown 

25 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

To such as ye, 

Or me! ’ 

“ ‘Ha, then — the rich ! ’ ye cry, 

‘Not so in truth/ says I. 

‘The rich man’s gold is load of care, 

That day and night he needs must bear; 

Less care he’d know if poor he were, 

As poor as ye, 

Or me ! 9 

“For, sirs, as I do guess 
This thing called ‘ Happiness ’ 

Man leaveth with his youth behind; 

So keep ye all a youthful mind, 

Thus happiness ye all shall find 
If wit have ye, 

Like me! 

“ O list ye, great and small, 

Proud knight, free man and thrall, 

True happiness, since life began. 

The birthright is of every man; 

Seize then your birthright if ye can, 

Since men are ye — 

Like me! 

“Thus I forsooth, a Fool, 

Do now ye wise ones school; 

Since of my folly, full and free, 

I wisely thus admonish ye, 

Be wise — or eke fools learn to be 
In verity — 

Like me!” 

Now when the song was ended some there were 
who laughed and some looked grave, some talked 

26 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

amain and some wagged solemn heads, while many 
a good coin rang heartily at Duke Jocelyn’s feet; 
smiling, he bade Sir Pertinax take them up, joying to 
see the proud Knight stooping thus to pouch the 
money like any beggar. But now, when he would 
fain have gone his way into the town, the people 
would by no means suffer it and clamoured amain on 
all sides, insistent for more; wherefore, lifting his 
scarred face to the sunset sky, Duke Jocelyn sang 
as here followeth: 

“When man is born he doth begin 
With right good will, to daily sin, 

And little careth. 

But when his grave he thinketh near, 

Then grave he groweth in his fear 
And sin forsweareth. 

“This life that man doth cherish so, k 
Is wondrous frail and quick to go, 

Nor will it stay. 

Yet where’s the man that will not give 
All that he hath so he might live 
Another day. 

“Fain would I know the reason why 
All men so fearful are to die 
And upward go ? 

Since Death all woes and ills doth end, 

Sure Death, methinks, should be a friend, 

Not hated foe. 

“ So when Death come, as come he must, 
Grieve not that we this sorry dust 
Do leave behind. 

For when this fleeting life be run, 

27 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

By Death we all of us — each one, 

True life shall find.” 

Now while he sang melodious and clear 
Amid the throng that closer pressed to hear, 

Duke Joc’lyn of a sudden did espy 

The “wherefore” of his coming and the “why.” 

Yolande herself he, singing, did behold, 

Her eyes, red lips, her hair of ruddy gold; 

And all her warm and glowing loveliness 
Did sudden thus his raptured vision bless; 

While she, in gracious ease, her horse did sit 
That pawed round hoof and champed upon his bit, 
Arching proud neck as if indeed he were 
Proud of the lovely burden he did bear. 

As Joc’lyn gazed upon her thus, she seemed 
A thousand times more fair than he had dreamed. 
Now while he sang, she viewed him, gentle-eyed, 
And quite forgot the gallant by her side, 

A tall, dark-featured, comely lord was he, 

With chin full square and eyes of mastery, 

Who, when the Duke made of his song an end 
Did from his saddle o’er Yolanda bend. 

With eyes on her warm beauty he stooped near 
To touch white hand and whisper in her ear; 
Whereat she laughed and frowned with cheek 
flushed red 

Then, frowning still, she turned her horse’s head, 
And rode away with dame and squire and knight, 
Till lost she was to Joc’lyn’s ravished sight. 

“Ha, lord!” quoth Sir Pertinax, as they came 
within a quiet thoroughfare, “this lady is grown more 
fair since last we saw her Queen of Beauty at Melloc 
joust, concerning whom Fame, in troth, doth breed 
a just report for once. But, messire, didst mark him 
28 


The Geste ofTDuke Jocelyn 

beside her — with touch o’ hand, lord, whispers i’ 
the ear — didst mark this wolf, this Seneschal, this 
thrice accurst Sir Gui?” 

“Aye, forsooth,” answered the Duke, “but 
thou ’rt an hungered, methinks ? ” 

“To touch her hand, lord — aha! To whisper 
in her ear, lord -r- oho! A right puissant lord, 
Seneschal of Raddemore, Lord of Thorn and Knight 
of Ells! A lord of puissance and power potential.” 

“And thou, my Pertinax, art but a hungry Knight, 
that trampeth with a hungry Fool, wherefore let us 
forthwith-” 

“Aye, but mark me, lord, if this puissant lord 
with pomp and high estate doth woo the lady-” 

“So then, my Pertinax, will I woo this lady also.” 

“How, in this thy foolish guise?” 

“Aye, forsooth.” 

“Why, then, thou art like to be whipped for 
froward Fool and I for ragged rogue, and this our 
adventure brought to ill and woeful end — so here 
now is folly, lord, indeed!” 

“Aye, forsooth!” smiled the Duke, 

“Whereto these bells give heed. 

But come, amend thy speed, 

Methinks thy fasting-need 
These gloomy vapours breed. 

Thy inner man doth plead 
Good beef with ale or mead 
Wherein, thou Fool decreed, 

I am right well agreed 
’T were goodly thing to feed, 

Nor will I thee impede, 

So follow Folly’s lead 

And food-wards we ’ll proceed.” 


29 



FYTTE 2 


How Pertinax mine host’s large ears did wring. 
And Jocelyn of these same ears did sing. 


Now the town was full, and every inn a-throng 
with company — lords, both great and small, 
knights and esquires and their several followings, 
as archers, men-at-arms, and the like, all thither 
come from far and near to joust at the great tourna¬ 
ment soon to be, to honour the birthday of Bene- 
dicta. Duchess of Tissingors, Ambremont, and 
divers other fair cities, towns and villages. Thus 
our travellers sought lodgment in vain, whereat 
Sir Pertinax cursed beneath his breath, and Duke 
Jocelyn hummed, as was each his wont and custom; 
and ever the grim Knight’s anger grew. 

Until, at last, an humble inn they saw — 

A sorry place, with bush above the door. 

This evil place they straightway entered in, 

Where riot reigned, the wild, unlovely din 
Of archers, men-at-arms, and rogues yet worse. 

Who drank and sang, whiles some did fight and 
curse. 

An evil place indeed, a lawless crew, 

And landlord, like his inn, looked evil too: 

Small was his nose, small were his pig-like eyes, 

But ears had he of most prodigious size, 

A brawny rogue, thick-jowled and beetle-browed, 
Who, spying out our strangers ’mid the crowd, 

30 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Beholding them in humble, mean array. 

With gestures fierce did order them away. 

“Nay/’ quoth Sir Pertinax, “here will we bide, 

Here will we eat and drink and sleep beside. 

Go, bring us beef, dost hear ? And therewith 
mead, 

And, when we ’ve ate, good beds and clean we ’ll 
need.” 

“Ho!” cried the host. “Naught unto ye I’ll 
bring 

Until yon Fool shall caper first and sing!” 

Said Jocelyn : “I ’ll sing when I have fed !” 

“And then,” quoth Pertinax, “we will to bed!” 
“And wilt thou so?” the surly host replied; 

“No beds for likes o’ ye do I provide. 

An’ ye will sleep, knave, to the stable go, 

The straw is good enough for ye, I trow.” 

“Ha !” roared Sir Pertinax. “A stable? Straw? 
This to me, thou filthy clapper-claw, 

Thou fly-blown cod’s-head, thou pestiferous thing !” 
And, roaring, on the brawny host did spring; 

By his large ears Sir Pertinax did take him, 

And to and fro, and up and down, did shake him; 
He shook him quick and slow, from side to side. 
While loud for aid the shaken landlord cried. 
Whereat the vicious crowd, in sudden wrath, 
Shouted and cursed and plucked their daggers 
forth. 

But, ere to harm our bold Knight they were able, 
Duke Joc’lyn lightly sprang on massy table; 
Cock’s-comb a-flaunt and silver bells a-ring, 

He laughing stood and gaily plucked lute-string, 
And cut an antic with such merry grace 
That angry shouts to laughter loud gave place. 

31 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Thereafter he sang as followeth: 

“Bold bawcocks, brave, bibulous, babbling boys, 
Tall tosspots, come, temper this tumult and 
noise; 

So shall I sing sweetly such songs as shall sure 
Constrain carking care and contumacy cure. 
Thus, therefore-” 

But here the surly landlord raised much clamour 
and outcry, whiles he touched and caressed his great 
ears with rare gentleness. 

“Oho, my yeres!” roared he. “My yeres do be 
in woeful estate. Oho, what o’ yon fierce-fingered 
rogue, good fellows, what o’ yon knave — ’a did 
twist my yeres plaguily and wring ’em roguishly, 
’a did ! Shall ’a not be beaten and drubbed out into 
the kennel, ha? What o’ poor Nykins’ yeres, says 
I — my yeres, oho !” 

“Thine ears, unsavoury scullion,” laughed 
Jocelyn; “thine ears, forsooth? Hark ye, of thy 
so great, so fair, so fine ears I ’ll incontinent make a 
song. List ye, one and all, so shall all here now hear 
my song of ears!” Forthwith Duke Jocelyn struck 
his lute and sang: 

“Thine ears, in sooth, are long ears, 

Stout ears, in truth, and strong ears. 

Full ears, I trow, and fair ears, 

Round ears also and rare ears. 

So here’s an ear that all eyes here 
Shall see no beauty in, ’t is clear. 

For these o’ thine be such ears, 

Large, loose, and over-much ears. 

Ears that do make fingers itch, 

Ears to twist and ears to twitch. 

32 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

If thine ears had gone unseen, 

Pulled forsooth they had not been; 

Yet, since pulled indeed they were, 

Thine ears plain the blame must bear. 

So of thine ears no more complain, 

Lest that thine ears be pulled again. 

So hide thine ears as best ye may. 

Of which same ears, to end, I say 
Thine ears indeed be like my song, 

Of none account, yet over long!” 

Now hereupon was huge laughter and merri¬ 
ment, insomuch that the thick-jowled landlord 
betook himself otherwhere, and all men thronged 
upon our jester, vociferous for more. 

“Aye, but, bold tosspots,” laughed Jocelyn, 
“how now, sit ye without wine in very truth?” 

“Not so, good Fool,” they cried. “Here be 
wine a-plenty for us and for thee!” 

“Go to, tall topers,” quoth the Duke, “ye are 
witless, in faith, for there is no man here but is 
without wine, as in song will I shew — mark now: 

“ ’T is plain that ye are wine without. 

Since wine’s within ye, topers stout. 

Without your wine, ye whineful show, 

Thus wine-full, wine without ye go. 

Being then without your wine, ’t is true, 
Wine-less, ye still are wine-full too. 

But, mark! As thus ye wine-full sit, 

Since wine ’s within, out goeth wit. 

Thus, truth to tell, tall topers stout. 

Both wine and wit ye go without!” 

By such tricks of rhyme, jugglery of words, and 
the like, Duke Jocelyn won this fierce company to 

33 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

great good humour and delight; insomuch that 
divers of these roysterers pressed wine upon him and 
money galore. But, the hour growing late, he 
contrived at last to steal away with Sir Pertinax, 
which last, having fed copiously, now yawned con- 
sumedly, eager for bed. Howbeit, despite the 
Knight’s fierce threats, they found no bed was to 
be had in all the inn, and so, perforce, betook them 
at last to the stable. 


There, while our Knight cursed softly, though full 
deep, 

Soon in the straw our Duke fell fast asleep. 


My daughter Gillian propoundeth: 


Gill: 
Myself : 


Gill: 
Myself : 


Gill: 
Myself : 


O, father, dear, I greatly fear 
You ’ll never be a poet! 

Don’t be too hard upon the bard, 

I know it, girl, I know it! 

These last two lines, I quite agree. 

Might easily much better be. 

Though, on the whole, I think my verse. 
When all is said, might be much worse. 
Worse, father? Yes, perhaps you ’re right. 
Upon the whole — perhaps, it might. 

But hark now, miss ! Attend to this ! 

Poetic flights I do not fly; 

When I begin, like poor Lobkyn, 

I merely rhyme and versify. 

Since my shortcomings I avow, 

The story now, you must allow, 

Trips lightly and in happy vein ? 

O, yes, father, though it is rather 
Like some parts of your “Beltane.” 

How, child ! Dare you accuse your sire 
Of plagiary — that sin most dire ? 

And if I do, small blame there lies; 

It is myself I plagiarise. 


34 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Gill : Why, yes, of course ! x\nd, as you know. 

I always loved your “Beltane” so. 

Myself : But don’t you like the “geste” I’m writing? 
Gill : Of course ! It ’s getting most exciting, 

In spite of all the rhymes and stuff- 

Myself: Stuff? 

Enough! 

My daughter, you ’re so sweetly frank. 
Henceforth my verses shall be blank. 

No other rhyme I ’ll rhyme for you 
Till you politely beg me to. 

Now then, your blank-verse doom you know. 
Hey, presto, and away we go! 


35 


FYTTE 3 


Tell’th how Duke Jocelyn of love did sing, 
And haughty knight in lily-pool did fling. 

Upon a morn, when dewy flowers fresh-waked 
Filled the glad air with perfume languorous, 

And piping birds a pretty tumult made, 

Thrilling the day with blended ecstasy; 

When dew in grass did light a thousand fires, 

And gemmed the green in flashing bravery — 
Forth of her bower the fair Yolanda came, 

Fresh as the morn and, like the morning, young, 
Who, as she breathed the soft and fragrant air. 
Felt her white flesh a-thrill with joyous life, 

And heart that leapt responsive to the joy. 

Vivid with life she trod the flowery ways, 
Dreaming awhile of love and love and love; 
Unknowing all of eyes that watched unseen, 
Viewing her body’s gracious loveliness: 

Her scarlet mouth, her deep and dreamful eyes, 
The glowing splendour of her sun-kissed hair, 
Which in thick braids o’er rounded bosom fell 
Past slender waist by jewelled girdle bound. 

So stood Duke Jocelyn amid the leaves. 

And marked how, as she walked, her silken gown 
Did cling her round in soft embrace, as though 
Itself had sense and wit enough to love her. 
Entranced he stood, bound by her beauty’s spell, 
Whereby it seemed he did in her behold 
The beauty of all fair and beauteous things. 

36 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Now leaned she o’er a pool where lilies pale 
Oped their shy beauties to the gladsome day. 
Yet in their beauty none of them so fair 
As that fair face the swooning waters held. 

And as, glad-eyed, she viewed her loveliness. 

She fell to singing, soft and low and sweet, 

Clear and full-throated as a piping merle, 

And this the manner of her singing was: 

“ What is love ? Ah, who shall say ? 
Flower to languish in a day. 

Bird on wing that will away. 

Love, I do defy thee! 

“ What is love ? A toy so vain 
’T is but found to lose again, 

Painful sweet and sweetest pain; 

Ah, love, come not nigh me. 

“But, love, an thou com’st to me, 

Wert thou as I’d have thee be, 

Welcome sweet I ’d make for thee, 

And weary of thee never. 

“If with thy heart thou could’st endure, 

If thou wert strong and thou wert sure, 
A master now, and now a wooer, 

Thy slave I’d be for ever.” 

Thus sang she sweet beside the lily-pool, 
Unknowing any might her singing hear, 

When rose another voice, so rich, so full 
As thrilled her into rapt and pleasing wonder; 
And as she hearkened to these deep-sung words, 
She flushed anon and dimpled to a smile: 

37 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“What is love? ’Tis this, I say, 

Flower that springeth in a day, 

Bird of joy to sing alway, 

Deep in the heart of me. 

“What is love? A joyous pain 
That I ne’er may lose again, 

Since for ever I am fain 
To think and dream of thee.” 

Now hasted she to part the leafy screen. 

And one in motley habit thus beheld. 

But when ’neath flaunting cock’s-comb she did mark 
His blemished face, she backward from him drew 
And caught her breath, and yet upon him gazed 
’Neath wrinkled brow, the while Duke Jocelyn 
Read the expected horror in her eyes: 

Wherefore he bowed his head upon his breast 
And plucked at belt with sudden, nervous hand 
As, cold and proud and high, she questioned him: 
“What thing art thou that ’neath thy hood doth show 
A visage that might shame the gladsome day?” 

Whereto he answered, low and humble-wise: 

“A Fool! The very fool of fools am I — 

A Fool that fain would pluck the sun from heaven.” 

“Begone!” she sighed. “Thy look doth make me 
cold, 

E’en as I stand thus i’ the kindly sun. 

Yet, an thou ’rt poor as thy mean habit speaks thee, 
Take first this dole for tender Jesu’s sake.” 

Then answered Jocelyn on lowly knee: 

“For thy sweet bounty I do thank thee well, 

But, in good sooth, so great a fool am I, 

’Stead of thy gold I rather would possess 

38 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Yon happy flower that in thy bosom bloometh. 

Give me but this and richer fool am I 

Than any knight-like fool that coucheth lance — 

Greater I than any lord soever, 

Aye — e’en Duke Jocelyn of Brocelaunde.” 

Smiled now Yolande with rosy lip up-curving. 

While in soft cheek a roguish dimple played. 

Quoth she: “Duke Jocelyn, I ’ve heard it said, 

Is great and rich, a mighty man-at-arms. 

And thou but sorry Fool in mean array, 

Yet” — from white fingers she let fall the flower — 
“Be thou, Fool, greater than this mighty Duke! 

And now, since mighty Fool and rich I’ve made thee. 
In quittance I would win of thee a song.” 

Now sat Yolande, white chin on dimpled fist, 
Viewing him o’er with cruel, maiden-eyes, 

So swift to heed each outward mark and blemish 
(Since maids be apt to sly disparagement. 

And scorn of all that seems un-beautiful) 

While he did lean him by the marble rim. 

His wistful gaze down-bent upon the pool, 

Feeling her look and knowing while she looked: 
What time he touched his lute with fingers skilled, 
And so fell singing, wonder-low and sweet: 

“Though foul and harsh of face am I, 

Lady fair — O lady ! 

Fair thoughts within my heart may lie, 

As flowers that bloom unseen to die, 

Lady fair — O lady ! 

“ Though this my hateful face may fright thee, 
Lady fair — O list! 

My folly mayhap shall delight thee, 

A song of fools I will recite thee. 

Lady fair — O list! ” 

39 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Herewith he sighed amain, but smiled anon, 
And fell anon to blither, louder note: 

“Sing hey, Folly — Folly ho, 

And here’s a song of Folly, 

All ’neath the sun, 

Will gladly run 
Away from Melancholy. 

“And Fool, forsooth, a Fool am I, 

Well learned in foolish lore: 

For I can sing ye, laugh or sigh: 

Can any man do more ? 

Hey, Folly — Folly, ho ! 

’Gainst sadness bar the door. 

“A Fool am I, yet by fair leave, 

Poor Fools have hearts to feel. 

Poor Fools, like other fools, may grieve 
If they their woes conceal. 

Hither, Folly — Folly, ho ! 

All Fools to Folly kneel. 

“What though a Fool be melancholy, 

Sick, sick at heart — heigho ! 

Pain must he hide ’neath laughing Folly, 
What Fool should heed his woe! 

Hither, Folly — Folly, ho ! 

Fool must unpitied go. 

“E’en though a Fool should fondly woo, 
E’en though his love be high, 

Poor Folly’s fool must wear the rue, 
Proud love doth pass him by. 

Heigho, Folly — Folly, ho ! 

Poor Fool may love — and die. 

40 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“ Though Wisdom should in motley go, 

And fools the wise man ape; 

Who is there that shall Wisdom know 
Beneath a 'scalloped cape ? 

Heigho, Folly — Folly, ho ! 

Life is but sorry jape. 

“ So, hey. Folly — Folly, ho ! 

And here ’s a song o' Folly, 

All ’neath the sun 

Do gladly run 

Away from Melancholy.” 

The singing done, she viewed him kinder-eyed, 

Till eyes met eyes — when she did pout and frown, 
And chid him that his song was something sad, 

And vowed so strange a Fool was never seen. 

Then did she question him in idle wise 

As, who he was and whence he came and why ? 

Whereto the Duke- 

My daughter Gillian interposeth : 

Gill : Dear father, if you ’re in the vein, 

I’d like a little rhyme again; 

For blank verse is so hard to read, 

And yours is very blank indeed ! 

Myself : Girl, when blank verse I write for thee, 

I write it blank as blank can be. 

Stay, I ’ll declare (no poet franker) 

No blank verse, Gill, was ever blanker. 

But: 

Since, with your sex’s sweet inconstancy, 
Rhymes now you wish, rhymes now I ’ll 
rhyme for thee: 

As thus, my dear — 

Give ear: 

41 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Whereto the Duke did instant make reply: 

“Sweet lady, since you question me, 

Full blithely I will answer thee; 

And, since you fain would merry be, 

I ’ll sing and rhyme it merrily : 

“Since Mirth’s my trade and follies fond, 
Methinks a fair name were Joconde; 

And for thy sake 
I travail make 
Through briar and brake, 

O’er fen and lake, 

The Southward March beyond. 

“For I an embassage do bear, 

Now unto thee, Yolande the fair, 

Which embassy, 

Now unto thee. 

Right soothfully, 

And truthfully, 

Most full, most free, 

Explicit I ’ll declare. 

“ Thus : videlicit and to wit, 

Sith now thou art to wedlock fit — 

Both day and night 
In dark, in light 
A worthy knight, 

A lord of might, 

In his own right, 

Duke Joc’lyn hight 
To thine his heart would knit. 

“But, since the Duke may not come to thee, 
I, in his stead, will humbly sue thee; 

His love each day 
I will portray 


42 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

As best I may; 

I ’ll sue, I ’ll pray, 

I ’ll sing, I ’ll play. 

Now grave, now gay. 

And in this way, 

I for the Duke will woo thee.” 

Now, fair Yolanda gazed with wide-oped eyes, 

And checked sweet breath for wonder and surprise; 
Then laughed full blithe and yet, anon, did frown, 
And with slim fingers plucked at purfled gown: 

“And is it thou — a sorry Fool,” she cried. 

“Art sent to win this mighty Duke a bride?” 

“E’en so !” quoth he. “Whereof I token bring; 
Behold, fair maid, Duke Joc’lyn’s signet ring.” 
“Heaven’s love !” she cried. “And can it truly be 
The Duke doth send a mountebank like thee, 

A Fool that hath nor likelihood nor grace 
From worn-out shoon unto thy blemished face — 

A face so scarred — so hateful that meseems 
At night’t will haunt and fright me with ill dreams; 
A slave so base-” 

“E’en so!” Duke Joc’lyn sighed, 

And his marred visage ’neath his hood did hide. 
“But, though my motley hath thy pride distressed, 

I am the Fool Duke Joc’lyn loveth best. 

And — ah, my lady, thou shalt never see 
In all this world a Fool the like of me!” 

Thus spake the Duke, and then awhile stood mute. 
And idly struck sweet chords upon his lute, 
Watching Yolande’s fair, frowning face the while, 
With eyes that held a roguish, wistful smile. 

She, meeting now these eyes of laughing blue, 

Felt her cheeks burn, and sudden angry grew. 

43 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

So up she rose in proud and stately fashion, 

And stamped slim foot at him in sudden passion; 
And vowed that of Duke Joc’lyn she cared naught; 
That if he’d woo, by him she must be sought; 
Vowed if he wooed his wooing should be vain, 

And, as he came, he back should go again. 

“ For, since the Duke,” she cried, “dare send to me 
A sorry wight, a very Fool like thee, 

By thy Fool’s mouth I bid thee to him say, 

He ne’er shall win me, woo he as he may; 

Say that I know him not-” 

“Yet,” spake Duke Joc’lyn soft, 

“E’er this, methinks, thou ’st seen my lord full oft. 
When at the joust thou wert fair Beauty’s queen 
Duke Joc’lyn by thy hand oft crowned hath been.” 
“True, Fool,” she answered, ’twixt a smile and frown, 
“I ’ve seen him oft, but with his vizor down. 

And verily he is a doughty knight, 

But wherefore doth he hide his face from sight ? ” 

“His face?” quoth Joc’lyn with a gloomy look, 
“His face, alack!” And here his head he shook; 
“His face, ah me!” And here Duke Joc’lyn sighed, 

“His face-” “What of his face ? ” Yolanda cried. 

“A mercy’s name, speak — speak and do not fail.” 
“Lady,” sighed Joc’lyn, “thereby hangs a tale, 

The which, though strange it sound, is verity, 

That here and now I will relate to thee — 

’T is ditty dire of dismal doating dames, 

A lay of love-lorn, loveless languishment. 

And ardent, amorous, anxious anguishment, 

Full-fed forsooth of fierce and fiery flames; 

So hark, 

And mark: 

In Brocelaunde not long ago, 

Was born Duke Jocelyn. I trow 

44 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Not all the world a babe could show, 

A babe so near divine: 

For, truth to tell. 

He waxed so well. 

So fair o’ face, 

So gay o’ grace, 

That people all. 

Both great and small, 

Where’er he went, 

In wonderment 
Would stare and stare 
To see how fair 
A lad was Jocelyn. 

And when to man’s estate he came. 
Alack, fair lady, ’t was the same ! 

And many a lovely, love-lorn dame 
Would pitiful pant and pine. 

These doleful dames 
Felt forceful flames. 

The old, the grey, 

The young and gay, 

Both dark and fair 
Would rend their hair. 

And sigh and weep 
And seldom sleep; 

And dames long wed 
From spouses fled 
For love of Jocelyn. 

Therefore the Duke an oath did take 
By one, by two, by three, 

That for these love-lorn ladies’ sake 
No maid his face should see. 

And thus it is, where’er he rideth 
His love-begetting face he hideth.” 

45 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Now laughed Yolande, her scorn forgotten quite, 
“Alas !” she cried. “Poor Duke ! O woeful plight! 
And yet, O Fool, good Fool, full fain am I, 

This ducal, love-begetting face to spy-” 

Quoth Joc’lyn: “Then, my lady, prithee, look !” 
And from his bosom he a picture took. 

“Since this poor face of mine doth so affright thee 
Here’s one of paint that mayhap shall delight thee. 
Take it, Yolande, for thee the craftsmen wrought it, 
For thee I from Duke Jocelyn have brought it. 

If day and night thou ’It wear it, fair Yolande,” 

And speaking thus, he gave it to her hand. 

Its golden frame full many a jewel bore, 

But ’t was the face, the face alone she saw. 

And viewing it, Yolanda did behold 
A manly face, yet of a god-like mould. 

Breathless she sate, nor moved she for a space. 

Held by the beauty of this painted face; 

’Neath drooping lash she viewed it o’er and o’er, 
And ever as she gazed new charms she saw. 

Then, gazing yet, “ Who — what is this ? ” she sighed. 
“Paint, lady, paint!” Duke Joc’lyn straight replied, 
“The painted visage of my lord it shows — 

Item: one mouth, two eyes and eke a nose-” 

“Nay,Fool,” she murmured, “here’s a face,meseems, 
I oft have seen ere now within my dreams; 

These dove-soft eyes in dreams have looked on me !” 

Quoth Joc’lyn : “Yet these eyes can nothing see!” 

“These tender lips in accents sweet I ’ve heard!” 

Quoth Joc’lyn: “Yet — they ne’er have spoke a 
word! 

But here’s a face at last doth please thee well 
Yet hath no power to speak, see, sigh or smell, 

46 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Since tongueless, sightless, breathless’t is — thus I 
A sorry Fool its needs must e’en supply. 

And whiles thou doatest on yon painted head 
My tongue I ’ll lend to woo thee in its stead. 

I ’ll woo with wit 
As seemeth fit, 

Whiles there thou sit 
And gaze on it. 

Whiles it ye see 
Its voice I ’ll be 
And plead with thee. 

So hark to me: 

Yolande, I love thee in true loving way; 

That is, I ’ll learn to love thee more each day. 
Until so great my growing love shall grow, 

This puny world in time’t will overflow. 

To-day I love, and yet my love is such 
That I to-morrow shall have twice as much. 

Thus lovingly to love thee I will learn 

Till thou shalt learn Love’s lesson in thy turn, 

And find therein how sweet this world can be 
When as I love, thou, love, shall so love me.” 

“Hush, hush!” she sighed, and to her ruddy lip 
She sudden pressed one rosy finger-tip. 

And then, O happy picture ! Swift from sight 
She hid it in her fragrant bosom white. 

“O Fool,” she cried, “get thee behind yon tree, 
And thou a very Fool indeed shall see, 

A knightly fool who sighs and groans in verse 
And oft-times woos in song, the which is worse.” 
For now they heard a voice that sung most harsh. 
That shrilled and croaked like piping frog in marsh, 
A voice that near and ever nearer drew 
Until the lordly singer strode in view. 

A noble singer he, both tall and slender, 

47 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

With locks be-curled and clad in pompous splendour; 
His mantle of rich velvet loose did flow, 

As if his gorgeous habit he would show; 

A jewelled bonnet on his curls he bore, 

With nodding feather bravely decked before; 

He was a lover very point de vice. 

And all about him, save his voice, was nice. 

Thus loudly sang, with lungs both sound and strong 
This worthy knight, Sir Palamon of Tong. 

“O must I groan 
And make my moan 
And live alone alway ? 

Yea, I must sigh 
And droop and die, 

If she reply, nay, nay! 

“I groan for thee, 

I moan for thee. 

Alone for thee I pine. 

All’s ill for me 
Until for me 

She will for me be mine.” 

But now, beholding Yolande amid her flowers, 
herself as sweet and fresh as they, he made an end 
of his singing and betook him, straightway, to amo¬ 
rous looks and deep-fetched sighs together with 
many supple bendings of the back, elegant postur¬ 
ings and motitions of slim legs, fannings and flaunt- 
ings of be-feathered cap, and the like gallantries; 
and thereafter fell to his wooing on this fashion: 

“Lady, O lady of lovely ladies most loved! Fair 
lady of hearts, sweet dame of tenderness, tender me 
thine ears, suffer one, hath sighed and suffered for 
sake of thee, to sightful sue. Lovely thou art and 
48 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

therefore to be loved, and day and night thou and 
Love the sum of my excogitations art, wherefore I, 
with loving art, am hither come to woo thee, since, 
lady, I do love thee.” 

“Alack, Sir Palamon !” she sighed, “and is it so ?” 
“Alack!” he answered, “so it is. Yest’re’en I 
did proclaim thee fairer than all fair ladies; to-day 
thou art yet fairer, thus this day thou art fairer than 
thyself; the which, though a paradox, is yet wittily 
true and truly witty, methinks. But as for me— 
for me, alas for me! I am forsooth the very slave 
of love, fettered fast by Dan Cupid, a slave grievous 
and woeful, yet, being thy slave, joying in my 
slavery and happy in my grievous woe. Thus it is 
I groan and moan, lady; I pine, repine and pine 
again most consumedly. I sleep little and eat less, 
I am, in fine and in all ways, ’haviours, manners, 
customs, feints and fashions soever, thy lover 
manifest, confessed, subject, abject, in season and 
out of season, yearly, monthly, daily, hourly, and 

by the minute. Moreover-” 

“Beseech thee !” she cried, “Oh, beseech thee, take 
thy breath.” 

“Gramercy, ’tis done, lady, ’tis done, and now 

forthwith resolved am I to sing thee-” 

“Nay, I pray you, sir, sing no more, but resolve 
me this mystery. What is love ? ” 

“Love, lady? Verily that will I in truth!” And 
herewith Sir Palamon fell to an attitude of thought 
with eyes ecstatic, with knitted brows and sage 
nodding of the head. “Love, my lady— ha ! Love, 
lady is — hum! Love, then, perceive me, is of its 
nature elemental, being of the elements, as ’twere, 
composed and composite, as water, air and fire. 
For, remark me, there is no love but begetteth first 
water, which is tears; air, which is sighings and 

49 





The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

groanings; and fire, which is heart-burnings and 
the like. Thus is love a passion elemental. But 
yet, and heed me, lady, love is also metaphysical, 
being a motition of the soul and e’en the spirit, and 
being of the spirit ’t is ghostly, and being ghostly 
’t is — ha ! Who comes hither to shatter the placid 
mirror of my thoughts?” 

So saying, the noble knight of Tong turned to 
behold one who strode towards them in haste, a 
tall man this whose black brows scowled fierce upon 
the day, and who spurned the tender flowers with 
foot ungentle as he came. 

A tall, broad-shouldered, haughty lord was he. 

With chin full square and eyes of mastery, 

At sight of whom, Yolanda’s laughter failed, 

And in her cheek the rosy colour paled. 

Quoth he: “Sir Palamon, now of thy grace, 

And of thy courteous friendship yield me place. 

To this fair lady I a word would say. 

Thus do I for thy courteous-absence pray, 

I am thy friend, Sir Knight, as thou dost know. 

But-” 

“My lord,” quoth Sir Palamon, “I go — 
Friendship methinks is a most holy bond, 

A bond I hold all binding bonds beyond, 

And thou ’rt a friend right potent, my lord Gui, 

So to thy will I willingly comply. 

Thus, since thy friendship I hold passing dear, 

Thou need but ask — and lo ! I am not here.” 

Thus having said, low bowed this courtly knight. 
Then turned about and hasted out of sight. 

“And now, my lady,” quoth Sir Gui, frowning 
upon her loveliness, “and now having discharged 
SO 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

yon gaudy wind-bag, what of this letter I did re¬ 
ceive but now — behold it!” and speaking, he 
snatched a crumpled missive from his bosom. “Be¬ 
hold it, I say!” 

“Indeed, my lord, I do,” she answered, proud 
and disdainful; “it is, methinks, my answer to 
thy loathed suit-” 

“Loathed !” he cried, and caught her slender wrist. 
And held it so, crushed in his cruel fist; 

But proud she faced him, shapely head raised high. 
“Most loathed, my lord !” she, scornful, made reply. 
“For rather than I’d wed myself with thee, 

The wife of poorest, humblest slave I’d be, 

Or sorriest fool that tramps the dusty way-” 

“Ha! Dare thou scorn me so?” Sir Gui did say, 
“Then I by force — by force will sudden take thee. 
And slave of love, my very slave I ’ll make thee-” 

Out from the leaves Duke Joc’lyn thrust his head, 
“O fie ! Thou naughty, knavish knight!” he said. 
“O tush ! O tush ! O tush again — go to ! 

’T is windy, whining, wanton way to woo. 

What tushful talk is this of ‘force’ and ‘slaves/ 
Thou naughty, knavish, knightly knave of knaves ? 
Unhand the maid — loose thy offensive paw !” 
Round sprang Sir Gui, and, all astonished, saw 
A long-legged jester who behind him stood 
With head out-thrust, grim-smiling ’neath his hood. 

“ Plague take thee, Fool! Out o’ my sight! ” growled 
he, 

“Or cropped thine ugly nose and ears shall be. 
Begone, base rogue! Haste, dog, and get thee 
hence. 

Thy folly pleadeth this thy Fool’s offence — 

Si 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Yet go, or of thy motley shalt be stripped, 

And from the town I ’ll have thee shrewdly 
whipped, 

For Lord of Ells and Raddemore am I, 

Though folk, I ’ve heard, do call me ‘Red Sir Gui,’ 
Since blood is red and — I am Gui the Red.” 

“Red Gui?” quoth Joc’lyn. “Art thou Gui the 
dread — 

Red Gui — in faith ? Of him Dame Rumour saith, 
His ways be vile but viler still — his breath. 

Now though a life vile lived is thing most ill, 

Yet some do think a vile breath viler still.” 

Swift, swift as lightning from a summer sky, 

Out flashed the vengeful dagger of Sir Gui, 

And darting with a deadly stroke and fierce. 

Did Joc’lyn’s motley habit rend and pierce, 

Whereat with fearful cry up sprang Yolande, 

But this strange jester did grim-smiling stand. 

Quoth he: “Messire, a fool in very truth, 

The fool of foolish fools he’d be, in sooth, 

Who’d play a quip or so, my lord, with thee 
Unless in triple armour dight w T ere he; 

And so it is this jester doth not fail 
With such as thou to jest in shirt of mail. 

Now since my heart thy foolish point hath missed 
Thy dagger — thus I answer — with my fist! ” 

Then swift he leapt and, even as he spoke, 

He fetched the knight so fierce and fell a stroke 
That, reeling, on the greensward sank Sir Gui, 

And stared, wide-eyed, unseeing, at the sky. 

Right firmly then upon his knightly breast 
Duke Joc’lyn’s worn and dusty shoe did rest, 

And while Yolande stood white and dumb with 
fear. 

Thus sang the Duke full blithely and full clear: 

52 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“ Girt thou art since thou art dust, 

^nd shalt to dust return; 

Meanwhile Folly as he lust 
!zJow thy base dust doth spurn. 

“ ^ea, lord, though thy rank be high. 

One day, since e’en lords must die, 
cinder all men’s feet thou ’It lie.” 

Now, fierce, Sir Gui did curse the Fool amain, 

And, cursing, strove his dagger to regain. 

But Joc’lyn stooped, in mighty arms he swung him. 
And down into the lily-pool he flung him. 

With splash resounding fell the noble knight. 

Then gurgling rose in damp and sorry plight, 
Whiles Joc’lyn, leaning o’er the marble rim, 

With lifted finger thus admonished him: 

“Red Gui, 

Dread Gui, 

Lest a dead Gui, 

Gui, I make of thee, 

Understand, Gui, 

Fair Yolande, Gui, 

Humbly wooed must be. 

“So, Gui, 

Know, Gui, 

Ere thou go, Gui, 

Gui they call the Red; 

And thou ’It woo, Gui, 

Humbly sue, Gui, 

Lest Love strike thee dead. 

“Now while thou flound’rest in yon pool, 
Learn thou this wisdom of a Fool; 

S3 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Cold water oft can passion cool 
And fiery ardours slake; 

Thus, sir, since water quencheth fire, 

So let it soothe away thine ire. 

Then — go seek thee garments drier 
Lest a rheum thou take.” 

Sir Gui did gasp, and gasping, strove to curse, 
Whereat he, gasping, did but gasp the worse, 

Till, finding he could gasp, but nothing say, 

He shook clenched fist and, gasping, strode away. 
Then Joc’lyn turned and thus beheld Yolande, 

Who trembling all and pale of cheek did stand. 

“O Fool!” she sighed. “Poor Fool, what hast 
thou done?” 

Quoth he: “Yolande, to woo thee I ’ve begun, 

I better might have wooed, it is most true, 

If other wooers had not wooed thee too.” 

“Nay, Fool!” she whispered. “O beware — be¬ 
ware ! 

Death — death for thee is in the very air. 

From Canalise, in haste, I bid thee fly, 

For ’vengeful lord and cruel is Sir Gui. 

Take now this gold to aid thee on thy way, 

And for thy life upon my knees I ’ll pray, 

And with the holy angels intercede 
To comfort thee and aid thee in thy need. 

And so — farewell!” Thus, speaking, turned Yo¬ 
lande. 

But Joc’lyn stayed her there with gentle hand, 
Whereat she viewed him o’er in mute surprise, 

To see the radiant gladness of his eyes. 

Quoth he : “Yolande, since thou wilt pray for me, 
Of thy sweet prayers fain would I worthy be. 

This I do know — let Death come when he may, 
The love I bear thee shall live on alway. 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Nor will I strive to leave grim Death behind me, 
Since when Death wills methinks he sure will find 
me; 

As in the world Death roameth everywhere, 

Who flees him here perchance shall meet him there. 
Here, then, I ’ll bide — let what so will betide me. 
Thy prayers like holy angels, watch beside me. 

So all day long and in thy pretty sleeping 

’Till next we meet the Saints have thee in keeping.” 


My daughter Gillian animadverteth : 


Gill : 

Myself : 
Gill : 

Myself : 

Gill: 
Myself : 
Gill : 


Myself : 

Gill : 
Myself : 

Gill : 


The last part seems to me much better. 

I like Yolande, I hope he ’ll get her. 

Patience, my dear, he’s hardly met her. 

I think it would be rather nice 
To make him kiss her once or twice. 

I ’ll make him kiss her well, my dear, 

When he begins — but not just here. 

I ’ll later see what I can do 
In this matter to please you. 

And then I hope, that by and by 
He kills that frightful beast, Sir Gui. 

Yes, I suppose, we ought to slay him, 

For all his wickedness to pay him. 

And Pertinax, I think — don’t you ? 

Should have a lady fair to woo. 

To see him in love would be perfectly clipping. 
It’s a corking idea, and quite awfully rip¬ 
ping — 

If you use such vile slang, miss, I vow I will 
not- 

O, Pax, father ! I’m sorry; I almost forgot. 
Very well, if my warning you’ll bear well 
in mind, 

A fair damsel for Pertinax I ’ll try to find. 
Then make her, father, make her quick, 

I always knew you were a brick. 


ss 


FYTTE 4 


How Pertinax plied angle to his sport 

And, catching him no fish, fish-like was caught. 


By sleepy stream where bending willows swayed, 
And, from the sun, a greeny twilight made, 

Sir Pertinax, broad back against a tree, 

Lolled at his ease and yawned right lustily. 

In brawny fist he grasped a rod or angle, 

With hook wherefrom sad worm did, writhing, dangle. 
Full well he loved the piscatorial sport, 

Though he as yet no single fish had caught. 

Hard by, in easy reach upon the sward, 

Lay rusty bascinet and good broadsword. 

Thus patiently the good Knight sat and fished, 

Yet in his heart most heartily he wished 
That he, instead of fishing, snug had been 
Seated within his goodly tower of Shene. 

And thinking thus, he needs must cast his eye 
On rusty mail, on battered shoon, and sigh, 

And murmur fitful curses and lament 

That in such base, unknightly garb he went — 

A lord of might whose broad shield bravely bore 
Of proud and noble quarterings a score. 

“ And ’t was forsooth for foolish ducal whim 
That he must plod abroad in such vile trim ! ” 
Revolving thus, his anger sudden woke, 

And, scowling, to the unseen fish he spoke: 

“A Duke ! A Fool! A fool-duke, by my head ! 
Who, clad like Fool, like Fool will fain be wed, 



The Geste of Duke } ocelyn 

For ass and dolt and fool of fools is he 
Who ’ll live in bondage to some talk-full she. 

Yet, if he ’ll wed, why i’ the foul fiend’s name, 

Must he in motley seek the haughty dame ? ” 

But now, while he did on this problem dwell, 

Two unexpected happenings befell: 

A fish to nibble on the worm began, 

And to him through the green a fair maid ran. 

Fast, fast amid the tangled brake she fled, 

Her cheeks all pale, her dark eyes wide with dread; 
But Pertinax her beauty nothing heeded, 

Since both his eyes to watch his fish were needed; 
But started round with sudden, peevish snort 
As in slim hands his brawny fist she caught; 

“Ha, maid!” he cried, “Why must thou come this 
way 

To spoil my sport and fright mine fish away?” 

“O man — O man, if man thou art,” she gasped, 
“Save me !” And here his hand she closer grasped, 
But even now, as thus she breathless spake, 

Forth of the wood three lusty fellows brake; 

Goodly their dress and bright the mail they wore. 
While on their breasts a falcon-badge they bore. 
“Oho !” cried one. “Yon dirty knave she’s met!” 
Sir Pertinax here donned his bascinet. 

“But one poor rogue shan’t let us !” t’ other roared. 
Sir Pertinax here reached and drew his sword. 

“ Then,” cried the third, “ let’s at him now all three ! ” 
Quoth Pertinax : “Maid, get thee ’hind yon tree, 

For now, methinks, hast found me better sport 
Than if, forsooth, yon plaguy fish I’d caught.” 

So saying, up he rose and, eyes a-dance 
He ’gainst the three did joyously advance, 

With sword that flashed full bright, but brighter yet 
The eyes beneath his rusty bascinet; 

57 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

While aspect bold and carriage proud and high. 

Did plainly give his mean array the lie. 

Thus, as he gaily strode to meet the three, 

In look and gesture all proud knight was he; 
Beholding which, the maid forgot her dread. 

And, ’stead of pale, her cheek glowed softly red. 

Now at the three Sir Pertinax did spring, 

And clashing steel on steel did loudly ring, 

Yet Pertinax was one and they were three, 

And once was, swearing, smitten to his knee. 
Whereat the maid hid face in sudden fear, 

And, kneeling so, fierce cries and shouts did hear. 
The sounds of combat dire, and deadly riot 
Lost all at once and hushed to sudden quiet, 

And glancing up she saw to her amaze 
Three rogues who fleetly ran three several ways, 
Three beaten rogues who fled with one accord. 

While Pertinax, despondent, sheathed his sword. 
“Par Dex!” he growled, “’Tis shame that they 
should run 

Ere that to fight the rogues had scarce begun!” 

So back he came, his rod and line he took, 

And gloomed to find no worm upon his hook. 

But now the maiden viewed him gentle-eyed; 
“Brave soldier, I do thank thee well!” she sighed, 
“Thou, like true knight, hast fought for me to¬ 
day -” 

“And the fish,” sighed he, “have stole my worm 
away, 

Which is great pity, since my worms be few !” 

And here the Knight’s despond but deeper grew. 
“Yon rogues,” he sighed, “no stomach had for fight, 
Yet scared the fish that had a mind to bite!” 

“But thou hast saved me, noble man!” said she. 
“So must I use another worm!” sighed he. 

58 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And straightway with his fishing he proceeded 
While sat the maid beside him all unheeded; 
Whereat she frowned and, scornful, thus did speak 
With angry colour flaming in her cheek: 

“What man art thou that canst but fight and fish? 
Hast thou no higher thought, no better wish?” 
“Certes,” quoth he, “I would I had indeed 
A goodly pot of foaming ale or mead.” 

“O base, most base!” the maid did scornful cry, 
And viewed him o’er with proud, disdainful eye. 
“That I should owe my life to man like thee! 

That one so base could fight and master three! 

Who art thou, man, and what ? Speak me thy name 
Whither ye go and why, and whence ye came. 

Thy rank, thy state, thy worth to me impart. 

If soldier, serf, or outlawed man thou art; 

And why ’neath ragged habit thou dost wear 
A chain of gold such as but knights do bear, 

Why thou canst front three armed rogues unafraid, 
Yet fear methinks to look upon a maid ? ” 

But to these questions Pertinax sat dumb — 

That is, he rubbed his chin and murmured, “Hum !’ 
Whereat she, frowning, set determined chin 
And thus again to question did begin: 

She : What manner of man art thou ? 

He : A man. 

She : A soldier ? 

He : Thou sayest. 

She : Art in service ? 

He : Truly. 

She : Whom serve ye ? 

He : A greater than I. 

She : Art thou wed ? 

He : The Saints forfend ! 

59 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

She : Then art a poor soldier and solitary. 

He : I might be richer. 

She : What dost thou fishing here ? 

He : I fish. 

She : And why didst fight three men for me — a 
maid unknown ? 

He : For lack of better employ. 

She : Rude soldier — whence comest thou ? 

He : Fair maiden, from beyond. 

She : Gross Knight, whither goest thou ? 

He : Dainty damosel, back again. 

She : Dost lack aught ? 

He : Quiet! 

She: How, would’st have me hold my peace, ill 
fellow ? 

He : *T would be a marvel. 

She : Wherefore ? 

He : Thou ’rt a woman. 

She : And thou a man, ill-tongued, ill-beseen, ill- 
mannered, unlovely, and I like thee not! 

He : And what is worse, the fish bite not. 

Now here, and very suddenly, she fell a-weeping, 
to the Knight’s no small discomfiture, though she 
wept in fashion wondrous apt and pretty; wherefore 
Sir Pertinax glanced at her once, looked twice and, 
looking, scratched his ear, rubbed his chin and finally 
questioned her in turn : 

He : Distressful damosel, wherefore this dole ? 

She : For that I am weary, woeful and solitary. 
And thou — thou ’rt harsh of look, rough of 
tongue, ungentle of- 

He : Misfortunate maiden, thy loneliness is soon 
amended, get thee to thy friends — thy 
gossips, thy- 


6o 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

She : I have none. And thou ’rt fierce and ungentle 
of face. 

Here she wept the more piteously and Sir Pertinax, 
viewing her distress, forgot his hook and worm, 
wherefore a fish nibbled it slyly, while the Knight 
questioned her further: 

He : Woeful virgin, whence comest thou ? 

She : From afar. And thou art of features grim 
and- 

He : And whither would’st journey ? 

She : No where ! And thou art- 

He : Nay, here is thing impossible, since being here 
thou art somewhere and that within three 
bowshots of the goodly town of Canalise 
wherein thou shalt doubtless come by comfort 
and succour. 

She : Never ! Never ! Here will I weep and moan 

and perish. And thou- 

He : And wherefore moan and perish ? 

She : For that I am so minded, being a maid forlorn 
and desolate, a poor wanderer destitute of kith, 
of kin, of hope, of love, and all that maketh 

life sweet. And thou art sour-faced and- 

He : Grievous maid, is, among thy many wants, a 
lack of money? 

She : That also. And thou art cold of eye, fierce 
of mouth, hooked of nose, flinty of heart, stony 
of soul, and I a perishing maid. 

At this Sir Pertinax blinked and caught his breath; 
thereafter he laid down his rod, whereupon the fish 
incontinent filched his worm all unnoticed while the 
Knight opened the wallet at his girdle and took 
thence certain monies. 


6l 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

He : Dolorous damsel, behold six good, gold pieces! 
Take them and go, get thee to eat — eat much, 
so shall thy dolour wax less, eat beef — since 
beef is a rare lightener of sorrow, by beef shall 
thy woes be comforted. 

She : Alas! I love not beef. 

Now here Sir Pertinax was dumb a space for 
wonder at her saying, while she stole a glance at 
him betwixt slender fingers. 

He (after some while ): Maid, I tell thee beef, fairly 
cooked and aptly seasoned, is of itself a virtue 
whereby the body is strengthened and nour¬ 
ished, whereby cometh content, and with 
content kindliness, and with kindliness charity, 
and therewith all other virtues small and eke 
great; therefore eat beef, maiden, for the 
good of thy soul. 

“How?” said she, viewing him bright-eyed ’twixt 
her fingers again. “Dost think by beef one may 
attain to paradise?” 

He : Per ad venture. 

She : Then no beef, for I would not live a saint yet 
awhile. 

He : Nathless, take thou these monies and go buy 
what thou wilt. 

So saying. Sir Pertinax set the coins beside her 
shapely foot and took up his neglected rod. 

She : And is this gold truly mine ? 

He: Verily. 

She : Then I pray thee keep it for me lest I lose it 
by the way and so — let us begone. 

62 

1 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Here Sir Pertinax started. 

“Begone?” quoth lie. “Begone — in truth? 
Thou and I in faith? Go whither?” 

She : Any whither. 

He : Alone ? Thou and I ? 

“Nay, not alone,” she sighed; “let us go to¬ 
gether.” 

Sir Pertinax dropped his fishing-rod and watched 
it idly float away down the stream: 

“Together, maiden?” said he at last. 

“Truly!” she sighed. “For thou art lonely 
even as I am lonely, and thou art, methinks, one a 
lonely maid may trust.” 

“Ha — trust!” quoth he. “And wherefore 
would’st trust me, maiden?” 

She : For two reasons — thou art of age mature and 
something ill-favoured. 

Now, at this Sir Pertinax grew angered, grew 
thoughtful, grew sad and, beholding his image 
mirrored in the waters, sighed for his grim, unlovely 
look and, in his heart, cursed his vile garb anew. At 
last he spoke: 

He : Truly thou may’st trust me, maiden. 

She : And wherefore sighest thou, sad soldier ? 

He : Verily for thy two reasons. Though, for mine 
age, I am not forty turned. 

Saying which, he sighed again, and stared gloomily 
into the murmurous waters. But presently, chanc¬ 
ing to look aside, he beheld a head low down amid 
the underwood, a head huge and hairy with small, 
fierce eyes that watched him right bodefully, and a 
great mouth that grinned evilly; and now as he 

63 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

stared, amazed by this monstrous head, it nodded 
grimly, speaking thus: 

“Lob, Lobkyn he 
Commandeth thee 
To let her be 
And set her free, 

Thou scurvy, cutpurse, outlaw knave, 

Lest hanged thou be 
Upon a tree 
For roguery 
And villainy, 

Thou knavish, misbegotten slave; 

For proud is she 
Of high degree, 

As unto ye 
Explicitly-” 

“Ha!” quoth Sir Pertinax, rising and drawing 
sword. “Now, be thou imp of Satan, fiend accursed, 
or goblin fell, come forth, and I with steel will try 
thee, Thing!” 

Out from the leaves forthwith crawled a dwarf 
bowed of leg, mighty of shoulder, humped of back, 
and with arms very long and thick and hairy. In 
one great fist he grasped a ponderous club shod with 
iron spikes, and now, resting his hands on this and 
his chin on his hands, he scowled at the Knight, yet 
grinned also. 

“Ho!” he cried, rolling big head in threatening 
fashion: 

“Vile dog, thy rogue’s sconce cracked shall be, 

Thy base-born bones be-thwacked shall be. 

I ’ll deal thee many a dour ding 

For that thou darest name me — Thing !” 

64 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Now, as I live!” said Sir Pertinax, scowling 
also. “Here will I, and with great joyance, cleave 
me thine impish mazzard and split thee to thy beastly 
chine. And for thy ill rhyming : 

“I with this goodly steel will halve thee 
And into clammy goblets carve thee. 

So stand, Thing, to thy club betake thee, 

And soon, Thing, I will no-thing make thee.” 

But, as they closed on each other with eager and 
deadly intent, the maid stepped lightly betwixt. 

“Stay, soldier — hold !” she commanded. “Here 
is none but Lobkyn Lollo — poor, brave Lob, nor 
will I suffer him to harm thee.” 

“How, maiden ? ” snorted the good Knight fiercely. 
“ Harm me, say’st thou — yon puny Thing P ” 

“Truly, soldier!” said she, roguish-eyed. “For 
though thou art very ungentle, harsh of tongue, 
of visage grim and manners rude — I would not 
have Lob harm thee — yet! ” 

Now hereupon our bold Sir Pertinax 
With indignation red of face did wax. 

The needful word his tongue was vainly seeking, 
Since what he felt was quite beyond the speaking. 
Though quick his hand to ward or give a blow, 

His tongue all times unready was and slow, 
Therefore he speechless looked upon the maid, 

Who viewed him ’neath her lashes’ dusky shade. 
Whence Eros launched a sudden beamy dart 
That ’spite chain-mail did reach and pierce his heart. 
And in that instant Pertinax grew wise, 

And trembled ’neath this forest-maiden’s eyes; 

And trembling, knew full well, seek where he might, 
No eyes might hold for him such magic light, 

65 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

No lips might hold for him such sweet allure, 

No other hand might his distresses cure, 

No other voice might so console and cheer. 

No foot, light-treading, be so sweet to hear 
As the eyes, lips, hand, voice, foot of her who stood 
Before him now, cheek flushing ’neath her hood. 

All this Sir Pertinax had in his thought, 

And, wishing much to say to her, said nought. 

By reason that his tongue was something slow, 

And of smooth phrases he did little know. 

But yet’t is likely, though he nothing said, 

She, maid-like, what he spake not, guessed or read 
In his flushed brow, his sudden-gentle eyes, 

Since in such things all maids are wondrous wise. 

Now suddenly the brawny Dwarf did cry: 

“Beware, my old great-grand-dam creepeth nigh!” 
Thus speaking, ’mid the bushes pointed he, 

Where crook’d old woman crouched beneath a tree 
Whence, bowed upon a staff, she towards them 
came. 

An ancient, wrinkled, ragged, hag-like dame 
With long, sharp nose that downward curved as 
though 

It fain would, beak-like, peck sharp chin below. 
Mutt’ring she came and mowing she drew near. 

And straightway seized the Dwarf by hairy ear: 

Fast by the ear this ancient dame did tweak him, 
And cuffed his head and, cuffing, thus did speak him : 

“Ha, dolt! Bad elf, and wilt thou slay, indeed. 
This goodly man did aid me in my need ? 

For this was one that fought within the gate 
And from Black Lewin saved thy grannam’s pate! 
Down, down, fool-lad, upon thy knees, I say. 

And full forgiveness of this soldier pray.” 

66 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

But Sir Pertinax, perceiving how the old dame 
did thus tweak and wring at the Dwarf’s great, 
hairy ear even until his eyes watered, interceded, 
saying: 

“Good, ancient soul, humble not the sturdy, un¬ 
lovely, mis-shapen, rascally imp for such small 
matter.” 

“Nay, but,” croaked the old woman, tightening 
claw-like fingers, “kind master, he would doubt¬ 
less have slain thee.” At this, Sir Pertinax scowled, 
and would have sworn great oath but, meeting the 
maid’s bright eyes, checked himself, though with 
much ado: 

“Art so sure,” he questioned, “so sure man of 
my inches may be slain by thing so small ? ” 

At this the maid laughed, and the old woman, 
sighing, loosed the ear she clutched: 

“Shew thy strength, Lob,” she commanded and, 
drawing the maiden out of ear-shot, sat down beside 
her on the sward and fell to eager, whispered talk. 
Meantime the Dwarf, having cherished his ear, 
sulkily though tenderly, seized hold upon his great 
club with both hairy hands : 

And whirling it aloft, with sudden might 
A fair, young tree in sunder he did smite, 

That ’neath the blow it swayed and crashing fell. 
Quoth Pertinax : “ Good Thing, ’t is very well. 

Par Dex, and by the Holy Rood,” quoth he, 

“’T is just as well that I was not yon tree!” 

And whirling his long sword as thus he spoke. 

Shore through another at a single stroke. 

“Here’s tree for tree, stout mauling !” he did say. 
“What other trick canst show to me, I pray?” 

Then Lobkyn stooped the broken stump to seize. 
Bowed brawny back and with a wondrous ease 
67 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Up by the roots the rugged bole he tore 
And tossed it far as it had been a straw. 

Sad grew our knight this mighty feat perceiving, 
Since well he knew’t was past his own achieving. 

But anon he smiled and clapped the mighty Dwarf 
on shoulder, saying: 

“Greeting to thee, lusty Lob, for by Our Holy 
Lady of Shene Chapel within the Wood, ne’er saw 
I thine equal, since thou, being man so small, may 
do what man o’ my goodly inches may nowise per¬ 
form. Thou should’st make a right doughty man-at- 
arms !” 

Hereupon the Dwarf cut a caper but sighed there¬ 
after : quoth he: 

“Aha, good master, and Oho, 

As man-at-arms fain would I go; 

Aye, verily, I would be so, 

But that my grannam sayeth ‘No!’ 

“And, sir, my grand-dam I obey 
Since she’s a potent witch, they say; 

Can cast ye spells by night or day 
And char met h warts and such away. 

“Love philtres too she can supply 
For fools that fond and foolish sigh. 

That wert thou foul as hog in sty 
Fair women must unto thee fly. 

“ Then deadly potions she can make, 

Will turn a man to wriggling snake, 

Or slimy worm, or duck, or drake. 

Or loathly frog that croaks in lake. 

68 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“And she can curse beyond compare. 

Can curse ye here, or curse ye there; 

She ’ll curse ye clad or curse ye bare, 

In fine, can curse ye anywhere. 

“And she can summon, so’t is said. 

From fire and water, spirits dread, 

Strong charms she hath can wake the dead 
And set the living in their stead. 

“So thus it is, whate’er she say. 

My grand-dam, master, I obey.” 

“Now by my head,” quoth Sir Pertinax, “ an thy 
grand-dam hath a potency in spells and such black 
arts — the which is an ill thing — thou hast a power¬ 
ful gift of versification the which, methinks, is worse. 
How cometh this distemper o’ the tongue, Lobkyn?” 

“O master,” spake the sighful Dwarf forlorn, 

“Like many such diseases, ’t is inborn. 

For even as a baby, I 

Did pule in rhyme and versify; 

And the stronger that I grew. 

My rhyming habit strengthened too, 

Until my sad sire in despair 
Put me beneath the Church’s care. 

The holy fathers, ’t is confessed, 

With belt and sandal did their best, 

But, though they often w r hipped me sore, 

I, weeping, did but rhyme the more. 

Till, finding all their efforts vain, 

They sadly sent me home again.” 

“A parlous case, methinks!” said Sir Pertinax, 
staring at the Dwarf’s rueful visage. “Learned ye 
aught of the holy fathers?” 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Aye, sir, they taught me truth to tell, 

To cipher and to read right well; 

They taught me Latin, sir, and Greek, 

Though even then in rhyme I’d speak.” 

“And thou canst read and write!” exclaimed Sir 
Pertinax. “So can not I!” 

Cried Lob : 

“What matter that? Heaven save the mark. 

Far better be a soldier than a clerk. 

Far rather had I be a fighter 
Than learned reader or a writer. 

Since they who ’d read must mope in schools. 

And they that write be mostly fools. 

So ’stead of pen give me a sword, 

And set me where the battle’s toward, 

Where blood-” 

But the ancient dame who had risen and ap¬ 
proached silently, now very suddenly took Lobkyn 
by the ear again. 

“Talk not of blood and battles, naughty one!” 
she cried. “Think not to leave thy old grannam 
lone and lorn and helpless — nor this our fair maid. 
Shame on thee, Lob, O shame! ” saying the which 
she cuffed him again and soundly. 

“Master,” he sighed, “thou seest I may not go. 
Since that my grand-dam will not have it so.” 

“Good mother, wise mother,” said the maid, 
viewing Sir Pertinax smilingly askance, “why doth 
poor soldier go bedight in fine linen ’neath rusty 
hauberk? Why doth poor soldier wear knightly 
chain about his neck and swear by knightly oath? 
Good mother, wise mother, rede me this.” 

70 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

The old woman viewed Pertinax with her bright, 
quick eyes, but, ere she could answer, he sheathed 
sword, drew ragged mantle about him, and made to 
go, but, turning to the maid, bent steel-clad head. 

“Most fair damosel,” said he gently, “evening 
cometh on, and now, since thou art no longer forlorn, 
I will away.” 

“Nay, first, I pray thee, what is thy name?” 

“Pertinax, madam.” 

“So then doth Melissa thank Pertinax. And now 
— out alas ! Will Pertinax leave Melissa, having 
but found her ? ” 

Sir Pertinax looked up, looked down, fidgeted with 
his cloak, and knew not how to answer; wherefore 
she sighed again, though with eyes full merry ’neath 
drooping lashes and reached out to him her slender 
hand. “Aye me, and shall we meet no more, poor 
soldier?” she questioned softly. 

“This I know not,” he answered. 

“For thy brave rescue I do give thee my humble 
thanks, poor soldier.” 

“Thy rescue, child?” cried the old woman. 
“Alack and wert thou seen? Thy rescue, say’st 
thou?” 

“Indeed, good mother, from Sir Agramore’s rough 
foresters. But for thee, thou needy soldier, my 
gratitude is thine henceforth. Had I aught else to 
give thee, that were thine also. Is there aught I 
may ? Speak.” 

Now Sir Pertinax could not but heed all the rich, 
warm beauty of her — these eyes so sombrely sweet, 
her delicate nose, the temptation of her vivid lips — 
and so spake hot with impulse: 

“Aye, truly, sweet maid, truly I would have 

of thee a-” Her eyes grew bright with laughter, 

a dimple played wanton in her cheek, and Sir 

71 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Pertinax was all suddenly abashed, faint-hearted 
and unsure; thus, looking down, he chanced to espy 
a strange jewel that hung tremulous upon her mov¬ 
ing bosom : a crowned heart within a heart of crystal. 

“Well, thou staid and sorry soldier, what would’st 
have of me?” she questioned. 

“Verily,” he muttered, “I would have of thee 
yon trinket from thy bosom.” Now at his words 
she started, caught her breath and stared at him 
wide-eyed; but, seeing his abashment, laughed and 
loosed off the jewel with quick, small fingers. 

“Be it so!” said she. But hereupon the old 
woman reached out sudden hand. 

“Child!” she croaked* “Art mad? Mind ye 
not the prophecy ? Beware the prophecy — be¬ 
ware ! 

‘He that taketh Crystal Heart, 

Taketh all and every part! * 

Beware, I say, Oh, beware !” 

“Nay, good mother, have I not promised? And 
for this crystal it hath brought me nought but un¬ 
ease hitherto. Take it, soldier, and for the sake 
of this poor maid that giveth, break it not, dis¬ 
honour it not, and give it to none but can define for 
thee the secret thereof — and so, poor, brave, fearful 
soldier — fare thee well!” 

Saying which this fair maiden turned, and clasp¬ 
ing the Witch’s bony arm about her slender loveli¬ 
ness, passed away into the denser wood with Lobkyn 
Lollo marching grimly behind, his mighty club across 
his shoulder. 

Long stood Sir Pertinax, staring down at the 
strange jewel in his hand yet seeing it not, for, lost 
in his dreams, he beheld again two eyes, dusky- 
lashed and softly bright, a slender hand, a shapely 
72 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

foot, while in his ears w~as again the soft murmur of 
a maid’s voice, a trill of girlish laughter. So lost 
in meditation was he that becoming aware of a 
shadow athwart the level sunset-glory, he started, 
glanced up and into the face of a horseman who had 
ridden up unheard upon the velvet ling; and this 
man was tall and armed at points like a knight; 
the vizor of his plumed casque was lifted, and Sir 
Pertinax saw a ruddy face, keen-eyed, hawk-nosed, 
thin-lipped. 

“Fellow,” questioned the haughty knight, “what 
hold ye there?” 

“Fellow,” quoth Sir Pertinax, haughty and gruff 
also, “’t is no matter to thee!” And speaking, he 
buttoned the jewel into the wallet at his belt. 

“Fool!” exclaimed the Knight, staring in amaze, 
“wilt dare name me ‘fellow’? Tell me, didst see 
three foresters hereabout?” 

“Poltroon, I did.” 

“ Knave, wilt defy me ? ” 

“Rogue, I do!” 

“ Slave, what did these foresters ? ” 

“Villain, they ran away !” 

“Ha, varlet! and wherefore?” 

“Caitiff, I drubbed them shrewdly.” 

“ Dared ye withstand them, dog ? ” 

“Minion, I did.” 

“Saw ye not the badge they bore?” demanded 
the fierce stranger-knight. 

“ ’T was the like of that upon thy shield ! ” nodded 
Sir Pertinax grimly. 

“Know ye who and what I am, dunghill rogue?” 

“No, dog’s-breakfast — nor care!” growled Sir 
Pertinax, whereat the stranger-knight grew sudden 
red and clenched mailed fist. 

“Know then, thou kennel-scourer, that I am Sir 

73 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Agramore of Biename, Lord of Swanscote and 
Hoccom, Lord Seneschal of Tissingors and the 
March.” 

“Ha!” quoth Sir Pertinax, scowling. “So do I 
know thee for a very rogue ingrain and villain 
manifest.” 

“ How! ” roared Sir Agramore. “ This to my face, 
thou vile creeper of ditches, thou unsavoury tavern- 
haunter — this in my teeth !” 

“Heartily, heartily !” nodded Sir Pertinax. “And 
may it choke thee for the knavish carcass thou art.” 

At this, and very suddenly, the Knight loosed 
mace from saddle-bow, and therewith smote Sir 
Pertinax on rusty bascinet, and tumbled him back¬ 
ward among the bracken. Which done, Sir Agra¬ 
more laughed full loud and, spurring his charger, 
galloped furiously away. And after some while 
Sir Pertinax arose, albeit unsteadily, but finding his 
legs weak, sat him down again; thereafter with 
fumbling hands he did off dinted bascinet and viewed 
it thoughtfully, felt his head tenderly and, crawling 
to the stream, bathed it solicitously; then, being 
greatly heartened, he arose and drawing sword, set 
it upright in the ling and, kneeling, clasped his hands 
and spake as follows : 

“Here and now, upon my good cross-hilt I swear 
I will with joy and zeal unremitting, seek me out 
one Sir Agramore of Biename. Then will I inconti¬ 
nent with any, all, or whatsoever weapon he chooseth 
fall upon him and, for this felon stroke, for his un¬ 
gentle dealing with the maid, I will forthwith gore, 
rend, tear, pierce, batter, bruise and otherwise use 
the body of the said Sir Agramore until, growing 
aweary of its vile tenement, his viler soul shall flee 
hence to consume evermore with such unholy knaves 
as he. And this is the oath of me, Sir Pertinax, 

74 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Knight of Shene, Lord of Westover, Framling, 
Bracton and Deepdene, to the which oath may the 
Saints bend gracious ear, in especial Our Holy Lady 
of Shene Chapel within the Wood — Amen ! ” 

Having registered the which most solemn oath, 
Sir Pertinax arose, sheathed his sw T ord, and strode 
blithely towards the fair and prosperous town of 
Canalise. But, being come within the gate, he 
was aware of much riot and confusion in the square 
and streets beyond, and hasting forward, beheld a 
wild concourse, a pushing, jostling throng of people 
making great clamour and outcry, above which 
hubbub ever and anon rose such shouts, as: “Mur¬ 
derer ! Thief ! Away with him ! Death to him !” 

By dint of sharp elbow and brawny shoulder our 
good knight forced himself a way until — surrounded 
by men-at-arms, his limbs fast bound, his motley 
torn and bloody, his battered fool’s-cap all awry — 
he beheld Duke Jocelyn haled and dragged along 
by fierce hands. For a moment Sir Pertinax stood 
dumb with horror and amaze, then, roaring, clapped 
hand to sword. Now, hearing this fierce and well- 
known battle shout, Duke Jocelyn turned and, be¬ 
holding the Knight, shook bloody head in warning 
and slowly closed one bright, blue eye; and so, while 
Sir Pertinax stood rigid and dumb, was dragged away 
and lost in the fierce, jostling throng. 

My daughter gillian propoundeth: 

Gill : Father, when you began this Geste, I thought 

It was a poem of a sort. 

Myself : A sort, Miss Pert! A sort, indeed ? 

Gill : Of course — the sort folks love to read. 

But in the last part we have heard 
Of poetry there’s scarce a word. 

75 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Myself : My dear, if you the early Geste-books read. 
You ’ll find that, oft as not, indeed, 

The wearied Gestours, when by rhyming 
stumped. 

Into plain prose quite often jumped. 

Gill : But, father, dear, the last part seems to me 

All prose — as prosy as can be- 

Myself : Ha, prosy, miss ! How, do you then suggest 
Our Geste for you lacks interest ? 

Gill : Not for a moment, father, though 

Sir Pertinax was much too slow. 

When fair Melissa “laughing stood,” 

He should have kissed — you know he 
should — 

Because, of course, she wished him to. 
Myself : Hum ! Girl, I wonder if that’s true ? 

Gill : O father, yes ! Of course I’m right, 

And you ’re as slow as your slow knight. 
Were you as slow when you were young ? 
Myself : Hush, madam ! Hold that saucy tongue. 
You may be sure, in my young days, 

I was most dutiful always. 

Grown up, I was, it seems to me, 

No slower than I ought to be. 

And now, miss, since you pine for verse, 
Rhyme with my prose I ’ll intersperse; 

And, like a doting father, I 
To hold your interest will try. 


76 



FYTTE 5 


Which of Duke Joc’lyn’s woeful plight doth tell. 
And all that chanced him pent in dungeon cell. 


In gloomy dungeon, scant of air and light, 

Duke Joc’lyn lay in sad and woeful plight; 

His hands and feet with massy fetters bound, 

That clashed, whene’er he moved, with dismal 
sound; 

His back against the clammy wall did rest, 

His heavy head was bowed upon his breast. 

But, ’neath drawn brows, he watched with wary eye 
Three ragged wights who, shackled, lay hard by, 
Three brawny rogues who, scowling, fiercely eyed 
him, 

And with lewd gibes and mocking gestures plied him. 
But Joc’lyn, huddled thus against the wall, 

Seemed verily to heed them none at all, 

Wherefore a red-haired rogue who thought he slept 
With full intent upon him furtive crept. 

But, ere he knew, right suddenly he felt 
Duke Joc’lyn’s battered shoe beneath his belt; 

And falling back with sudden strangled cry, 

Flat on his back awhile did breathless lie, 

Whereat to rage his comrades did begin, 

And clashed their fetters with such doleful din 
That from a corner dim a fourth man sprang, 

And laughed and laughed, until their prison rang. 
“Well kicked, Sir Fool! Forsooth, well done!” 
laughed he, 

“Ne’er saw I, Fool, a fool the like o’ thee!” 

77 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Now beholding this tall fellow, Jocelyn knew him 
for that same forest-rogue had wrestled with him 
in the green, and sung for his life the “Song of 
Roguery.” Wherefore he smiled on the fellow and 
the fellow on him : 

Quoth Jocelyn : I grieve to see 
A man like thee 
In such a woeful plight — 

Quoth the Rogue : A Fool in fetters, 

Like his betters. 

Is yet a rarer sight. 

“Ha i’ the clout, good fellow, for Folly in fetters 
is Folly in need, and Folly in need is Folly indeed! 
But, leaving folly awhile, who art thou and what thy 

Saith the Rogue : Robin I’m named, Sir Fool, 

Rob by the few. 

Which few are right, methinks, for 
so I do. 

“ Then, Rob, if dost rob thou ’rt a robber, and being 
robber thou ’rt perchance in bonds for robbing, 
Robin ?” 

“Aye, Fool, I, Rob, do rob and have robbed greater 
robbers that I might by robbery live to rob like 
robbers again, as thou, by thy foolish folly, fooleries 
make, befooling fools lesser than thou, that thou. 
Fool, by such fool-like fooleries may live to fool like 
fools again!” 

Quoth Jocelyn : Thou robber Rob, 

By Hob and Gob, 

Though robber-rogue, I swear 

78 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

That ’t is great pity 

Rogue so pretty 

Must dance upon thin air. 

Quoth Robin : Since I must die 
On gallows high 
And wriggle in a noose, 

I ’ll none repine 
Nor weep nor whine. 

For where would be the use? 

Yet sad am I 

That I must die 

With rogues so base and small. 

Sly coney-catchers, 

Poor girdle-snatchers, 

That do in kennel crawl. 

“And yet,” said Jocelyn, “thou thyself art rogue 
and thief confessed. How then art better than these 
thy fellows ?” 

“By degree, Sir Fool. Even as thou ’rt Fool o’ 
folly uncommon, so am I no ordinary rogue, being 
rogue o’ rare parts with power of rogues i’ the w T ild 
wood, while these be but puny rogues of no parts 
soever.” 

“No rogues are we!” the three did loudly cry, 

“But sad, poor souls, that perishing do lie!” 

“In me,” quoth one, “behold a man of worth. 

By trade a dyer and yclepen Gurth; 

In all this world no man, howe’er he try, 

Could live a life so innocent as I!” 

The second spake : “I am the ploughman Rick, 
That ne’er harmed man or woman, maid or chick! 
But here in direful dungeon doomed be I, 

Yet cannot tell the wherefore nor the why.” 

79 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Then spake Red-head, albeit gasping still: 

“An honest tanner I, my name is Will; 

’T was me thou kickedst, Fool, in such ill manner, 

Of crimes unjust accused — and I, a tanner !” 

Here Joc’lyn smiled. “Most saintly rogues/’ said 
he; 

“The Saints, methinks, were rogues compared with 

ye. 

And one must needs in prison come who’d find 
The noblest, worthiest, best of all mankind. 

Poor, ill-used knaves, to lie in dungeon pent, 

Rogues sin-less quite, and eke so innocent, 

What though your looks another tale do tell, 

Since I’m your fellow, fellows let us dwell, 

For if ye ’re rogues that thus in bonds do lie. 

So I’m a rogue since here in bonds am I, 

Thus I, a rogue, do hail ye each a brother, 

Like brethren, then, we ’ll comfort one another.” 

Thus spake Jocelyn, whereafter these “saintly 
rogues” all three grew mightily peevish and, withal, 
gloomy, while Robin laughed and laughed at them, 
nodding head and wagging finger. 

“Prithee, good Motley,” he questioned, “what 
should bring so rare a Fool to lie in dungeon fettered 
and gyved along of innocent rogues and roguish 
robber?” 

Whereto Duke Jocelyn answered on this wise: 

“Hast heard, belike, of Gui the Red?” 

(Here went there up a howl) 

“A mighty lord of whom’t is said, 

That few do love and many dread.” 

(Here went there up a growl) 

“This potent lord I chanced to view. 

Behaving as no lord should do, 

8o 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And thereupon, this lord I threw 
In pretty, plashing pool! 

“ Whereon this dreadful lord did get 
Exceeding wroth and very wet; 

Wherefore in dungeon here I’m set. 

For fierce and fro ward Fool.” 

Here went there up a shout of glee. 

Cried Robin : “O sweet Fool, 

I would I had been there to see 
This haughty lord of high degree 
In pretty, plashing pool.” 

Here shout of glee became a roar, 

That made the dungeon ring; 

They laughed, they rolled upon the floor, 

Till suddenly the massy door 
On creaking hinge did swing; 

And to them the head jailer now appeared, 

A sombre man who sighed through tangled beard. 

“How now, rogue-lads,” said he, “grow ye merry 
in sooth by reason o’ this Fool! Aye me, all men do 
grow merry save only I, Ranulph, Chief Torturer, 
Ranulph o’ the Keys, o’ the Gibbet, o’ the City Axe 
— poor Ranulph the Headsman. Good lack ! 1 5 ve 

cut off the head o’ many a man merrier than I — 
aye, that have I, and more’s the pity! And now, 
ye that are to die so soon can wax joyous along o’ 
this motley Fool! Why, ’t is a manifest good Fool, 
and rare singer o’ songs, ’t is said, though malapert, 
with no respect for his betters and over-quick at 
dagger-play. So’t is a Fool must die and sing no 
more, and there’s the pity on’t for I do love a song, 
I — being a companionable soul and jovial withal, 
aye, a very bawcock of a boy, I. To-morrow Red 
81 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Gui doth hale ye to his Castle o’ the Rock, there 
to die all five for his good pleasure, as is very fitting 
and proper, so be merry whiles ye may. Meantime, 
behold here another rogue, a youngling imp. So is 
five become six, and six may laugh louder than five, 
methinks, so laugh your best.” 

Then Ranulph o’ the Keys sighed, closed the great 
door and went his way, leaving the new captive 
to their mercies. Fair he was and slender, and of 
a timid seeming, for now he crouched against the 
wall, his face hid ’neath the hood of ragged mantle; 
wherefore the “saintly” three incontinent scowled 
upon him, roared at him and made a horrid clashing 
with their fetters: 

“Ha, blood and bones!” cried Rick the Plough¬ 
man. “What murderous babe art thou to go un¬ 
shackled in presence o’ thy betters ?” 

“Aye, forsooth,” growled Will the Tanner, 
“who ’rt thou to come hither distressing the last 
hours o’ we poor, perishing mortals? Discourse, 
lest I bite the heart o’ thee!” 

“Pronounce, imp!” roared Gurth the Dyer, 
“lest I tear thy liver !” 

“Sit ye, here beside me, youth,” said Jocelyn, 
“and presently thou shalt know these tearers of 
livers and biters of hearts for lambs of innocence 
and doves of gentleness — by their own confessions. 
For, remark now, gentle boy, all we are prisoners 
and therefore guiltless of every offence — indeed, 
where is the prisoner, but who, according to himself, 
is not more sinned against than sinner, and where 
the convicted rogue but, with his tongue, shall dis¬ 
prove all men’s testimony ? So here sit three guile¬ 
less men, spotless of soul and beyond all thought 
innocent of every sin soever. Yonder is Rob, a 
robber, and here sit I, a Fool.” 

82 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Ha!” cried Rick. “Yet murderous Fool art 
thou and apt to dagger-play! Belike hast slain a 
man this day in way o’ folly — ha ? ” 

“Two!” answered Jocelyn, nodding. “These 
two had been more but that my dagger brake.” 

Here was silence awhile what time Jocelyn hummed 
the line of a song and his companions eyed him with 
looks askance. 

“Why then, good Folly,” said Rick at last, “’t is 
for a little spilling o’ blood art here, a little, pretty 
business o’ murder — ha ? ” 

“ ’T is so they name it,” answered Jocelyn. 

“Bones o’ me!” growled Will, “I do begin to 
love this Fool.” 

“And didst pronounce thyself our brother. Fool?” 
questioned Gurth. 

“Aye, verily!” 

“Then brethren let us be henceforth, and com¬ 
rades to boot!” cried Rick. “Jolly Clerks o’ Saint 
Nicholas to share and share alike — ha ? So then 
? t is accorded. And now what o’ yon lily-livered 
imp ? ’T is a sickly youth and I love him not. But 
he hath a cloak, look’ee — a cloak forsooth and poor 
Rick’s a-cold ! Ho, lad — throw me thy cloak !” 

“Beshrew me !” roared Gurth. “But he beareth 
belt and wallet! Ha, boy, give thy wallet and girdle 
— bestow!” 

“And by sweet Saint Nick,” growled Will, “the 
dainty youngling disporteth himself to mine eyes 
in a gold finger-ring! Aha, boy! Give now thy 
trinket unto an honest tanner.” 

Hereupon and with one accord up started the 
three, fierce-eyed; but Jocelyn, laughing, rose up 
also. 

“Back, corpses!” quoth he, swinging the heavy 
fetters to and fro between shackled wrists. “Stand, 

83 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

good Masters Dry-bones; of what avail cloak, or 
wallet, or ring to ye that are dead men ? Now, since 
corpses ye are insomuch as concerneth this world, 
be ye reasonable and kindly corpses. Sit ye then, 
Masters Dust-and-Ashes, and I will incontinent sing 
ye, chant or intone ye a little song of organs and 
graves and the gallows-tree whereon we must dance 
anon; as, hearken : 

“ Sing a song of corpses three 
That ere long shall dancing be, 

On the merry gallows-tree — 

High and low, 

To and fro, 

Leaping, skipping. 

Turning, tripping. 

Wriggling, whirling. 

Twisting, twirling: 

Sing hey for the gallows-tree.” 

“Stint — stint thy beastly song now!” cried Will, 
pale of cheek. But Jocelyn sang the louder : 

“Sing a song of dying groans, 

Sing a song of cries and moans, 

Sing a song of dead men’s bones, ' 

That shall rest. 

All unblest. 

To rot and rot. 

Remembered not, 

For dogs to gnaw 
And battle for, 

Sing hey for the dead rogue’s bones.” 

“Abate — ha — abate thy fiendish rant!” cried 
Rick, glancing fearfully over shoulder. 

84 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Aye, Fool — beseech thee! Fair flesh may not 
abide it!” cried Gurth, shivering, while Robin 
grinned no more and the fearful youth leaned wide- 
eyed to behold the singer, this strange, scarred face 
beneath its battered cock’s-comb, these joyous eyes, 
these smiling lips as Jocelyn continued: 

“Now ends my song with ghosts forlorn, 

Three gibbering ghosts that mope and mourn, 

Then shrieking, flee at breath of dawn, 

Where creatures fell 
In torment dwell. 

Blind things and foul, 

That creep and howl, 

That rend and bite 
And claw and fight. 

Where fires red-hot 
Consume them not. 

And they in anguish 
Writhe and languish 
And groan in pain 
For night again. 

Sing hey for pale ghosts forlorn.” 

Now when the song was ended, the three looked 
dismally on one another and, bethinking them of 
their cruel end, they groaned and sighed lamentably : 

My daughter gillian interposeth : 

Gill : Father, I like that song, it’s fine; 

But let me ask about this line: 

“ Blind things and foul, 

That creep and howl. ,, 

Now tell me, please, if you don’t mind, 

Why were the little horrors blind ? 

Myself : The beastly things, as I surmise, 

Had scratched out one another’s eyes. 

85 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Gill : I suppose this place where creatures fell 

In torments dwell is meant for- 

Myself : Well, 

I think, my Gill, the place you ’ve guessed, 
So let me get on with our Geste. 

. . . they groaned and sighed lamentably- 

My daughter Gillian interjecteth : 

Gill : Father — now don’t get in a huff — 

But don’t you think they’ve groaned enough ? 
Myself : My Gillian — no ! Leave well alone; 

This is the place for them to groan. 

Lamentably they did together moan. 

And uttered each full many a hollow groan. 

My daughter Gillian interposeth : 

Gill : But, father, groans are so distressing, 

And groans in verse are most depressing- 

Myself : Then peace, child, and in common prose 
I ’ll let the poor rogues vent their woes: 

. . . they groaned and they sighed lamentably — 

My daughter Gillian interrupteth : 

Gill : What, father, are they groaning still ? 

Myself : Of course they are, and so they will, 

And so shall I; so, girl, take heed. 

And cease their groaning to impede. 

Is it agreed ? 

Gill : Oh, yes, indeed ! 

Myself : Then with our Geste I will proceed. 

. . . they groaned and sighed lamentably. 

“Alack!” cried Gurth, “I had not greatly minded 
till now, but this vile-tongued Fool hath stirred 
86 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Fear to wakefulness within me. Here 9 s me, scarce 
thirty turned, hale and hearty, yet must die woefully 
and with a maid as do love me grievously ! 99 

“And me!” groaned Rick. “No more than 
twenty and five, I — a very lad — and with two 
maids as do languish for me fain and fond !” 

“Ha, and what o’ me?” mourned dismal, red¬ 
headed Will. “A lusty, proper fellow I be and 
wi’ maids a score as do sigh continual. And me to 
die — O woe ! And I a tanner ! ” 

“Content ye, brothers!” said Jocelyn. “Look 
now, here’s Gurth hath lived but thirty years, and 
now must die — good: so shall he die weighted 
with less of sin than had he lived thirty more. Be 
ye comforted in this, distressful rogues, the shorter 
our life the less we sin, the which is a fair, good thing. 
As for these shackles, though our bodies be ’prisoned 
our souls go free, thus, while we languish here, our 
souls astride a sunbeam may mount aloft, ’bove all 
pains and tribulations soever. Thus if we must 
dance together in noose, our souls, I say, escaping 
these fleshy bonds, shall wing away to freedom 
everlasting. Bethink ye of this, grievous knaves, 
and take heart. Regarding the which same truths 
I will, for thy greater comforting, incontinent make 
ye a song — hearken ! 

“ Let Folly sing a song to cheer 
All poor rogues that languish here. 

Doomed in dismal dungeon drear, 

Doomed in dungeon dim. 

“ Though flesh full soon beneath the sod 
Doth perish and decay, 

Though cherished body is but clod, 

Yet in his soul man is a God, 

To do and live alway. 

87 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

So hence with gloom and banish fear, 

Come Mirth and Jollity, 

Since, though we pine in dungeon drear. 
Though these, our bodies, languish here. 

We in our minds go free.” 

Thus cheerily sang Jocelyn until, chancing to see 
how the youth leaned forward great-eyed, watching 
as he sung, he broke off to question him blithely: 

“How now, good youth, hast a leaning to Folly 
e’en though Folly go fettered, and thyself in dun¬ 
geon ? ” 

“Fool,” answered the youth, soft-voiced, “me- 
thinks ’t is strange Folly can sing thus in chains! 
Hast thou no fear of death?” 

“Why truly I love it no more than my fellow- 
fools. But I, being fool uncommon, am wise enough 
to know that Death, howsoe’er he come, may come 
but once — and there’s a comfortable thought! ” 

So saying, Jocelyn seated himself beside the youth 
and watched him keen-eyed. 

“And thou canst sing of Freedom, Fool, to the 
jangle of thy fetters?” 

“Truly, youth, ’t is but my baser part lieth 
shackled, thus while body pineth here, soul walketh 
i’ the kindly sun — aye, e’en now as I do gaze on 
thee, I, in my thought, do stand in a fair garden — 
beside a lily-pool, where she I love cometh shy¬ 
footed to meet me, tall and gracious and sweet, as 
her flowers. A dream, belike, yet in this dream 
she looketh on me with eyes of love and love is on 
her lips and in her heart — so is my dream very 
precious.” 

At this, the youth shrank beneath his cloak while 
in an adjacent corner the three rolled dice with 
Robin and quarrelled hoarse and loud. 

88 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Youth,” said Jocelyn, “I pray thee, tell me thy 
name.” 

Without lifting head the youth answered: 

“Hugo!” 

“ Look up, Hugo ! ” But Hugo bowed his head the 
lower. 

“ Hast wondrous hair, Hugo — red gold ’neath 
thy hood!” 

Here came a slim, white hand to order the re¬ 
bellious tress but, finding none, trembled and hid 
itself. Then very suddenly Jocelyn leaned near and 
caught this hand, clasping it fast yet with fingers 
very gentle, and spake quick and eager: 

“Hugo — alas, Hugo! What bringeth thee in 
this evil place? Art in danger? Speak, speak !” 

“Nay, here is no harm for me, Joconde. And I 
am hither come for sake of a poor Fool that is braver 
than the bravest — one did jeopardise his foolish 
life for sake of a maid, wherefore I, Hugo, do give 
him life. Take now this wallet, within is good store 
of gold and better — a potent charm to close all 
watchful eyes. Hist, Joconde, and mark me well! 
Ranulph o’ the Axe is a mighty drinker — to-night, 
drawn by fame of thy wit, he cometh with his 
fellows. This money shall buy them wine, in the 
wine cast this powder so shall they sleep and thou 
go free.” 

“Aye!” said Jocelyn, “and then?” 

“There will meet thee a dwarf shall free thee of 
thy fetters, and by secret ways set thee without the 
city — then, tarry not, but flee for thy life-” 

“Now by the Holy Rood !” quoth Jocelyn softly, 
“never in all this world was there prisoner so happy 
as this poor Fool! But, Hugo, an I win free by 
reason of a brave and noble lady, so long as she bide 

in Canalise, so long must I-” 

89 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

My daughter Gillian interposeth : 


Gill: 
Myself : 

Gill : 
Myself : 

Gill : 

Myself : 
Gill: 

Myself : 


Gill: 
Myself : 


0, father, now I understand — 

Of course, this Hugo is Yolande ! 
Exactly, miss, the fact is clear; 

But how on earth did she get here ? 

I don’t want her here- 

Why not ? 

Because, being here, she spoils my plot, 
Which would drive any author frantic — 
I think it’s fine, and most romantic. 
Besides, you know, you wrote her there - 

She came — before I was aware- 

She could n’t, father, for just think, 

You’ve made her all of pen and ink. 

So you, of course, can make her do 
Exactly as you want her to. 

Dear innocent! You little know 
The trials poor authors undergo. 

How heroines, when they break loose. 
Are apt to play the very deuce. 

Dragging their authors to and fro, 

And where he wills — they will not go. 
Well, since she’s here, please let her be, 
She wants to set Duke Joc’lyn free. 
Enough — enough, my plans are made, 

I ’ll set him free without her aid. 

And in a manner, I apprise you. 

As will, I fancy, quite surprise you. 
Besides, a dungeon no fit place is 
For a dainty lady’s graces. 

So, since she’s in, ’t is very plain 
I now must get her out again. 


“To bide in Canalise, ’t is folly!” cried Hugo. 
“O, ’t were a madness fond!” 

“Aye,” sighed Jocelyn, “some do call love a 
madness — thus mad am I, forsooth ! ” 

“ Hush ! ” whispered Hugo, as from without came 
90 






The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

the tramp of heavy feet. “Fare-thee-well and — 
ah, be not mad, Joconde!” 

The door creaked open, and six soldiers entered 
bringing a prisoner, chained and fettered, and there¬ 
with fast bound and gagged, whom they set ungently 
upon the stone floor; then straightway seizing upon 
Robin, they haled him to his feet. 

“Come, rogue,” said one, “thou art to hang at cock¬ 
crow ! ” 

“Is’t so, good fellows?” quoth Robin, 

“Then cock be curst 
That croweth first! 

As for thee, good Motley, peradventure when, by 
hangman’s noose, our souls enfranchised go, they 
shall company together, thine and mine! Till then 
— farewell, Folly!” 

So Robin was led forth of the dungeon and the 
heavy door crashed shut; but when Jocelyn looked 
for Hugo — lo ! he was gone also. 

Evening was come and the light began to fail, 
therefore Jocelyn crouched beneath the narrow loop¬ 
hole and taking from his bosom the wallet, found 
therein good store of money together with the charm 
or philtre: and bowing his head above this little 
wallet, he fell to profound meditation. 

But presently, roused by hoarse laughter, he 
glanced up to find the three plaguing the helpless 
prisoner with sundry kicks and buffets; so Jocelyn 
crossed the dungeon, and putting the tormentors 
aside, stood amazed to behold in this latest captive 
none other than Sir Pertinax. Straightway he 
loosed off the gag, whereupon the good knight in- 

91 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

continent swore a gasping oath and prayed his limbs 
might be loosed also; the which done, he forthwith 
sprang up, and falling on the astonished three, he beat 
and clouted them with fist and manacles, and drave 
them to and fro about the dungeon. 

“Ha, dogs! Wilt spurn me with they vile feet, 
buffet me with thy beastly hands, forsooth !” roared 
he and kicked and cuffed them so that they, thinking 
him mad, cried aloud in fear until Sir Pertinax, 
growing a-weary, seated himself against the wall, 
and folding his arms, scowled indignant upon Jocelyn 
who greeted him merrily : 

“Hail and greeting to thee, my Pertinax; thy 
gloomy visage is a joy !” 

Sir Pertinax snorted, but spake not; wherefore 
the Duke questioned him full blithe: “What fair, 
good wind hath blown thee dungeon-wards, sweet 
soul?” 

“Ha !” quoth the knight. “Fetters, see’st thou, a 
dungeon, and these foul knaves for company — the 
which cometh of thy fool’s folly, messire ! So prithee 
ha’ done with it! ” 

“Stay, gentle gossip, thou’rt foolish, methinks; 
thou frettest ’gainst fate, thou kickest unwisely 
’gainst the pricks, thou ragest pitifully ’gainst cir¬ 
cumstance — in fine, thou ’rt a very Pertinax, my 
Pertinax!” 

“Aye troth, that am I and no dog to lie thus 
chained in noisome pit, par Dex! So let us out, 
messire, and that incontinent!” 

“Why here is a bright thought, sweet lad, let us 
out forthwith — but how ? ” 

“Summon the town-reeve, messire, the burgesses, 
the council, declare thy rank, so shall we go free — 
none shall dare hold thus a prince of thy exalted 
state and potent might! Declare thyself, lord.” 

92 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

■‘This were simple matter, Pertinax, but shall they 
believe us other than we seem, think ye ? ” 

Quoth Pertinax: “We can try!” 

“Verily,” said Jocelyn, “this very moment!” So 
saying, he turned to the three who sat in a corner 
muttering together. 

“Good brothers, gentle rogues,” said he, “behold 
and regard well this sturdy cut-throat fellow that 
sitteth beside me, big of body, unseemly of habit, 
fierce and unlovely of look — one to yield the wall 
unto, see ye! And yet — now heed me well, this 
fellow, ragged and unkempt, this ill-looking haunter 
of bye-ways, this furtive snatcher of purses (hold 
thy peace, Pertinax!). I say this unsavoury-seem¬ 
ing clapper-claw is yet neither one nor other, but 
a goodly knight, famous in battle, joust and tourney, 
a potent lord of noble heritage, known to the world 
as Sir Pertinax of Shene Castle and divers rich 
manors and demesnes. Furthermore, I that do 
seem a sorry jesting-fellow, I that in antic habit go, 
that cut ye capers with ass’s ears a-dangle and 
languish here your fellow in bonds, am yet no antic, 
no poor, motley Fool, but a duke and lord of many 
fair towns and rich cities beyond Morfeville and the 
Southward March. How say ye, brothers?” 

’“That thou ’rt a fool!” quoth Rick. 

“True!” nodded Jocelyn. 

“Most true !” sighed Sir Pertinax. 

“And a liar !” growled Gurth. 

“And a murderous rogue!” cried Will, “and 
shall hang, along of us — as I’m a tanner ! ” 

“Alack, Sir Knight,” smiled Jocelyn, “of what 
avail rank or fame or both ’gainst a motley habit 
and a ragged mantle. Thus, Pertinax, thou art 
no more than what thou seemest, to wit — a poor, 
fierce rogue, and I, a beggarly stroller.” 

93 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“And like to have our necks stretched, lord, by 
reason of a fond and foolish whim! ” 

“Unless, Pertinax, having naught to depend on 
but our native wit we, by our wit, win free. Other 
poor rogues in like case have broke prison ere now, 
and ’t is pity and shame in us if thou, a knight so 
potent and high-born, and I, a prince, may not do 
the like.” 

“Messire, unlearned am I in the breaking o’ 
prisons so when my time cometh to die in a noose 
I can but die as knight should — though I had 
rather ’t were in honest fight.” 

“ Spoken like the very fool of a knight! ” quoth 
Jocelyn. “So now will I show thee how by the wit 
of a brave and noble lady we may yet ’scape the 
hangman. Hearken in thine ear !” 

But, when Jocelyn had told him all and shown 
money and sleeping-charm, Sir Pertinax grew 
thoughtful, sighing deep and oft, yet speaking not, 
wherefore the Duke questioned him. 

“Good gossip, gasp not!” quoth he. “How 
think’st thou of prison-breaking now — expound ! ” 
“Why, sir, I think when all do charmed and spell¬ 
bound snore, 

Then will we shrewdly choke them that they wake 
no more!” 

“Nay, Pertinax, here shall be no need of choking, 
forsooth!” Sir Pertinax bowed chin on fist and 
sighed again. 

“Pertinax, prithee puff not! Yet, an puff ye 
will, pronounce me then the why and wherefore of 
thy puffing.” 

“Lord, here is neither gasp nor puff, here is honest 
sighing. I can sigh as well as another.” 

“Since when hast learned this so tender art, my 
Pertinax ? ” 


94 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“And I do sigh by reason of memory.” 

“As what, Pertinax?” 

“Eyes, lord — her eyes so darkly bright and, as 
I do think — black ! ” 

“Nay, blue, Pertinax — blue as heaven !” 

“Black, messire, black as — as black !” 

“Blue, boy, blue!” 

“Lord, they are black !” 

“Speak’st thou of Yolande?” 

“Messire, of one I speak, but whom, I know not. 
She came to me i’ the greenwood as I sat a-fishing. 
Her hair long and black — ay, black and curled, 
her eyes dark, and for beauty ne’er saw I her like.” 

“And yet hast seen my Lady Yolande oft!” 

“Her voice, messire, her voice soft and sweet as 
the murmur of waters, and very full of allure.” 

“Why, how now!” cried Jocelyn. “Art thou — 
thou, my Pertinax, become at last one of Cupid’s 
humble following? All joy to thee, my lovely 
lover — here in truth is added bond betwixt us! 
For since thou dost love a maid, even as I do love 
a maid, so being lovers twain needs must we love 
each other the better therefore.” 

“Nay, out alack, my lord!” sighed Sir Pertinax. 
“For though I do love her, she, by reason o’ my 
ill-favoured looks, the which, woe ’s me, I may not 
alter, loveth not me, as I do judge.” 

“How judge ye this?” 

“Lord, she giveth me hard names. She, all in a 
breath, hath pictured me thus: ‘Hooked of nose, 
fierce-eyed, of aspect grim — ungentle, unlovely, 
harsh o’ tongue, dour o’ visage, hard o’ heart, flinty 
o’ soul and of manners rude.’ ” 

“Good! But was this all, my Pertinax?” 

“Nay, lord, and with a wannion — there was 
more to like purpose.” 


95 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Excellent, my lovely knight — let hope sing in 
thee. For look now, if she named thee hooked of 
nose, fierce-eyed and of aspect grim — she speaketh 
very truth, for so thou art, my Pertinax. Now truth 
is a fair virtue in man or maid, so is she both virtuous 
and fair! Nay, puff not, sighful Pertinax, but for 
thy comforting mark this — she hath viewed and 
heeded thy outward man narrowly — so shall she 
not forget thee soon; she with woman’s eye hath 
marked the great heart of thee through sorry habit 
and rusty mail, and found therein the love thy harsh 
tongue might not utter; and thus, methinks, she 
hath thee in mind — aye, even now, mayhap. 
Lastly, good, lovely blunderbore — mark this! ’T is 
better to win a maid’s anger than she should heed 
thee none at all. Let love carol i’ thy heart and be 
ye worthy, so, when ye shall meet again, ’tis like 
enough, despite thy hooked nose, she shall find thine 
eyes gentle, thy unloveliness lovely, thy harsh tongue 
wondrous tender and thy flinty soul the soul of a 
man.” 

“Why, faith, lord,” quoth Pertinax, his grim lips 
softening to a smile, “despite her words, she spake 
in voice full sweet, and her eyes — ah, messire, her 
eyes were wondrous kind — gentle eyes — aye, her 
eyes were-” 

“Eyes, my Pertinax — black eyes !” 

“And gentle! By which same token, lord, she 
did give to me this token — this most strange 
trinket.” 

But all at once, was the creak of hinges, and the 
ponderous door opening, Ranulph o’ the Axe ap¬ 
peared, followed by divers of the warders bearing 
torches. 

“Oho!” sighed Ranulph, doleful of visage. “Aha, 
good bawcocks, here come I, and these my fellows, 
96 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

for love o’ thee, good Fool, thy quips, thy quirks, 
thy songs and antics capersome. For troth I’m a 
merry dog, I — a wanton wag, a bully boy and jovial, 
though woeful o’ look !” 

“Wherefore woeful!” 

“ For that I am not joyous, good Motley. Look ’ee 
— here’s me born with a rare, merry heart, but sad 
and sober of head! Here’s a heart bubbling with 
kindliness and soft and tender as sucking lamb, 
wedded to head and face full o’ gloom! Here’s 
laughter within me and woe without me, so am I 
ever at odds with myself — and there’s my sorrow. 
Regarding the which same I will now chaunt ye 
song I made on myself; ’t was meant for merry 
song and blithe, but of itself turned mournful song 
anon as ye shall hear.” 

So saying, Ranulph o’ the Axe threw back grim 
head and sang gruff, albeit plaintive, thus: 

“O! merry I am and right merry I ’ll be, 

Ho-ho for block, gibbet and rack — oho ! 

To hang or behead ye there’s none like to me, 

For I’m headsman, tormentor, and hangman, all 
three, 

And never for work do I lack — oho ! 

“ I live but to torture since torment’s my trade, 

But my torment well meant is, I trow; 

If I hang or behead ye, it can’t be gainsaid, 

Though my head for the head of a headsman was 
made, 

Still I’m all loving-kindness below. 

“ But if ever I strive merry story to tell, 

Full of japeful and humorsome graces, 

’T is as though I were tolling a funeral bell 

97 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

As if dismally, dolefully tolling a knell, 

So solemn and sad grow all faces. 

“ I hang, burn and torture the best that I may. 

Ho pincers and thumbscrews and rack — oho ! 

And all heads I cut off in a headsmanlike way; 

So I ’ll hang, burn and torment ’till cometh the day 
That my kind heart within me shall crack — oho ! 
Well-a-wey! Well-a-wey! 

Woe is me for the day 

That my poor heart inside me shall crack ! Oho! 

“ So there’s my song ! ’T is dull song and, striv¬ 
ing to be merry song, is sad song, yet might be worse 
song, for I have heard a worse song, ere now — but 
’t is poor song. So come, Fool, do thou sing us merry 
song to cheer us ’gainst my sad song.” 

“Why truly, Sir Headsman,” said Jocelyn, “here 
be songs a-many, yet if thou ’rt for songs, songs will 
we sing thee, each and every of us. But first, be¬ 
hold here is money shall buy us wine in plenty that 
we may grow merry withal in very sooth.” 

“Oho!” cried Ranulph. “Spoken like a noble 
Motley, a fair, sweet Fool! Go thou, Bertram, obey 
this lord-like Fool — bring wine, good wine and 
much, and haste thee, for night draweth on and at 
cock-crow I must away.” 

“Aye,” nodded Jocelyn, “in the matter of one — 
Robin ?” 

“Verily, Fool. A cheery soul is Robin, though 
an outlaw, and well beloved in Canalise. So is he 
to hang at cock-crow lest folk make disturbance.” 
“Where lieth he now?” 

“ Where but in the watch-house beside the gallows 
’neath Black Lewin’s charge. But come, good 
Motley, sing — a pretty song, a merry ditty, ha ! ” 
98 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

So forthwith Jocelyn took his lute and sang: 

“With dainty ditty 
Quaint and pretty 
I wfill fit ye. 

So heed and mark me well, 

And who we be 
That here ye see 
Now unto ye 
Explicit I w ill tell: 

“ Then here first behold one Gurth, a w r orthy, dying 
Dyer, 

Since he by dyeing liveth, so to dye is his desire: 
For being thus a very Dyer, he liveth but to dye, 
And dyeing daily he doth all his daily wants 
supply. 

Full often hath he dyed ere now to earn his 
daily bread, 

Thus, dyeing not, this worthy Dyer must soon, 
alas! be dead. 

“ Here 9 s Rick — a saintly ploughman, he 
Hath guided plough so well, 

That here, with rogues the like of me. 

He pines in dungeon cell. 

“ Here ’s Red-haired Will — O fie ! 

That Will should fettered lie 
In such base, cruel manner! 

For though his hair be red, 

Brave Will, when all is said, 

Is — hark *ee — Will ’s a tanner !” 

“Enough, Fool!” cried Will. “An thou must 
sing, sing of thyself, for thyself, to thyself, and I 
will sing of myself an’ need be!” 

99 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Laughed Jocelyn : 

Why then, brave Will, 

Come, sing thy fill. 

Whereupon Will cleared his throat, squared his 
shoulders, and rumbling a note or so to fix the key, 
burst into songful roar: 

“A tanner I, a lusty man, 

A tanner men call Will, 

And being tanner true, I tan, 

Would I were tanning still; 

Ho derry, derry down, 

Hey derry down. 

Would I were tanning still.” 

“Aye, verily!” growled Sir Pertinax. “And 
choked in thy vile tan-pit, for scurvier song was 
never heard, par Dex !” 

“Why ’tis heard, forsooth,” said Jocelyn, “and 
might be heard a mile hence! Chant on, brave 

Will.” 

The Tanner, nothing loth, wiped his mouth, 
clenched his fists and standing square and rigid, 
continued : 

“How gaily I a-tanning went, 

No tanner blithe as I, 

No tanner e’er so innocent, 

Though here in chains I lie. 

Ho derry down, 

Hey derry down, 

In grievous chains I lie. 

“ No more, alack, poor Will will tan. 

Since Will will, all unwilling, 

Though tanner he and proper man, 

IOO 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

A gloomy grave be filling. 

Hey derry down, 

Ho derry down, 

A gloomy grave be filling. ,, 

“Now out upon thee, Tanner!’’ sighed Ranulph. 
“Here’s sad song, a song o’ graves, and therefore 
most unlovely, a song I — Saints and Angels! ” 
he gasped: 

And pointed where Sir Pertinax did stand, 

The Heart of Crystal shining in his hand. 

“The Heart-in-Heart! The Crystal Heart!” cried 
he, 

And crying thus, sank down on bended knee. 

While jailers all and scurvy knaves, pell-mell, 
Betook them to their marrow-bones as well; 
Whereat Sir Pertinax oped wond’ring eyes, 

And questioned him ’twixt anger and surprise. 

Then answered Ranulph, “Sir, though chained ye 
go, 

Yet to thee we do all obedience owe 
By reason of that sacred amulet, 

That crystal heart in heart of crystal set: 

‘For he that holdeth Crystal Heart 
Holdeth all and every part, 

And by night or eke by day 

The Heart-in-Heart all must obey!’” 

“Obey?” quoth Pertinax. “Ha! Let us see 
If in thy vaunt there aught of virtue be: 

For by this Heart of Crystal that I bear, 

I charge ye loose the chains the Fool doth wear, 
Then off with these accursed gyves of mine, 

Or-” 


IOI 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Ranulpk to the warders gave a sign, 

And they to work did go with such good speed, 

That Joc’lyn soon with Pertinax stood freed, 

“Now by my halidome !” quoth Pertinax, 

“This talisman methinks no magic lacks, 

So knaves, I bid ye — by this magic Heart, 

Draw bolt and bar that hence we may depart-” 

But now the scurvy knaves made dismal cry. 

“Good sir !” they wailed, “Ah, leave us not to die!” 
“Aye, by Heav’n’s light!” fierce quoth Sir Pertinax, 
“Ye ’re better dead by gibbet or by axe, 

Since naught but scurvy, coward rogues are ye, 

And so be hanged — be hanged to ye, all three !” 

“Knight!” Joc’lyn sighed, “’neath Heaven’s light 
somewhere 

Doth live a dark-eyed maid with black-curled hair — 
Her voice is soft and full of sweet allure, 

And thou, perchance, one day may humbly woo her; 
So these poor rogues now woo their lives of thee. 
Show mercy then and mercy find of she.” 

At this Sir Pertinax rubbed chin and frowned, 

Red grew his cheek, his fierce eyes sought the ground. 
Then, even as he thus pinched chin and scowled, 
“Loose, then, the dismal knaves!” at last he 
growled. 

But now grim Ranulph tangled beard tore 
And wrung his hands and sighed and groaned and 
swore 

With loud complaints and woeful lamentations, 

With muttered oaths and murmured objurgations, ! 
With curses dire and impious imprecations. 

“Beshrew me, masters all!” quoth he. “Now 
here’s ill prank to play a poor hangman, may I 
102 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

ne’er quaff good liquor more, let me languish o’ the 
quartern ague and die o’ the doleful dumps if I 
ever saw the like o’ this! For look ’ee now, if I set 
these three rogues free, how may I hang ’em as hang 
’em I must, since I by hanging live to hang again, 
and if I don’t hang ’em whom shall I hang since 
hang I must, I being hangman? Bethink ye o’ 
this, sirs, and show a little pity to a poor hangman.” 

“Why then, mark ye this, hangman,” said 
Jocelyn, “since on hanging doth thy hangman’s 
reputation hang, then hang thou must; therefore, 
an ye lack rogue to hang, go hang thyself, 
so, hanging, shall thy hanging be done with and 
thou having lived a hangman, hangman die, thus, 
hangman hanging hangman, hangman hanging shall 
be hangman still, and being still, thus hanging, shall 
hang no more.” 

“Aye, verily!” quoth Sir Pertinax, “there it is 
in a nutshell — hangman, be hanged to thee! So 
off with their fetters, Master Gallows, by Crystal 
Heart I charge thee !” 

Hereupon the scurvy knaves were freed, to their 
great joy, and following the bold knight, made haste 
to quit their gloomy dungeon. Reaching the guard- 
room above, Sir Pertinax called lustily for sword 
and bascinet, and thereafter chose divers likely 
weapons for his companions who, with axe and pike 
and guisarme on shoulder, followed him out into the 
free air. 

Now it was night and very dark, but Gurth, who 
was a man of the town, brought them by dim and 
lonely alleys and crooked ways until at last they 
halted within a certain dark and narrow street. 

“Whither now?” questioned Sir Pertinax. 

“Verily,” said Jocelyn, “where but to the gate¬ 
house -” 


103 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Not so,” muttered Gurth, “’tis overly well 
guarded-” 

“Aye,” growled Will, “which is true, as I’m a 
tanner! ” 

“Howbeit,” said Jocelyn, “I’m for the gate¬ 
house !” 

“And wherefore?” demanded Sir Pertinax. 

“In cause of one Rob, a robber.” 

“Aye, but,” said Gurth, “he is to hang at crow- 
o’-cock and ’tis nigh cock-crow now.” 

“The more need for haste,” said Jocelyn. 

But, even now, as they together spoke, 

A sullen tramp the sleeping echoes woke. 

Behind them in the gloom dim forms they saw. 
While others grimly barred the way before; 

And so, by reason that they could not fly, 

They grasped their weapons and prepared to die. 
Then in the darkness of that narrow street. 

Broad axe and pike and flashing sword did meet. 
Duke Jocelyn full many a thrust drave home, 

Till whirling pike-staff smote him on cock’s-comb. 
And staggering back to an adjacent wall, 

In deep-sunk doorway groaning he did fall. 

My daughter Gillian remonstrateth : 

Gill : Now, father, please don’t let him die — 

Myself : No, no, indeed, my Gill, not I, 

My heroes take a lot of killing- 

Gill : Then go on quick, it ’s very thrilling ! 

I hope he vanquishes his foes, 

And let him do it, please, in prose. 

“O woe!” said a quavering voice. “Alack, and 
well-a-wey-” 


104 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

My daughter Gillian demurreth : 

Gill : No, father — that ’s not right at all. 

You’d got to where you’d made him fall. 
Myself : Well, then, Duke Joc’lyn, from his swoon 
awaking, 

Found that his head confoundedly was 
aching; 

Found he was bruised all down from top to 
toe- 

Gill : A bruise, father, and he a duke ? No, no ! 

Besides, you make 
A frightful mistake — 

A hero’s head should never ache; 

And, father, now, whoever knew 
A hero beaten black and blue ? 

And then a bruise, it seems to me, 

Is unromantic as can be. 

He can’t be bruised, 

And shan’t be bruised, 

For, if you bruise him. 

And ill-use him, 

I ’ll refuse him — 

No reader, I am sure, would choose 
A hero any one can bruise. 

So, father, if you want him read, 

Don’t bruise him, please — 

Myself : Enough is said ! 

At this, Jocelyn sat up and wondered to find him¬ 
self in a small chamber dim-lit by a smoking cresset. 
On one side of him leaned an ancient woman, a 
very hag-like dame 

With long, sharp nose that downward curved as 
though 

It fain would, beak-like, peck sharp chin below; 

and upon his other side a young damsel of a wondrous 
dark beauty. 


105 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Lady,” said he, “where am I?” 

“Hush, poor Motley!” whispered the maid. 
“Thou didst fall ’gainst the door yonder. But 
speak low, they that seek thy life may yet be nigh.” 

“Nay, then,” quoth Jocelyn, reaching for his 
sword, “I must out and aid my comrades.” 

“Alack!” sighed the old woman. “Thy com¬ 
rades do without lie all slain save one that groaneth 
— hearken! ” 

“O, woe!” mourned a quavering voice beyond 
the door. “O, woe, sore hurted I be, and like to 
die — and I a tanner ! ” 

Very heedfully, Jocelyn unbarred the door, and 
peering into the narrow street, found it deserted 
and empty save for certain outstretched forms that 
stirred not; looking down on these dim shapes he 
knew one for Rick the Ploughman, whose ploughing 
days were sped and, huddled in a corner hard by, 
he found Will the Tanner, who groaned fitfully; 
but of Sir Pertinax and Gurth he saw nothing. So 
Jocelyn made shift to bear the Tanner within the 
house, and here Will, finding his hurts of small 
account, sat up, and while the wise old woman 
bandaged his wound, answered Jocelyn’s eager 
questions, and told how Sir Pertinax and Gurth the 
Dyer had broken through their assailants and made 
good their escape. 

Now, when the old woman had thus cherished 
their hurts, Jocelyn would fain have given her 
money, but she mumbled and mowed and cracked 
her finger-joints and shook grey head. 

“Not so, good Fool!” she croaked, “for I do 
know thee for that same gentle Motley did save 
me from Black Lewin — a murrain seize him ! So 
now will I save thee — behold!” So saying she 
set bony hand to wall; and lo! in the wall yawned 
106 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

a square opening narrow and dark, whence issued a 
cold wind. “Begone, thou brave merryman!” 
quoth she. “Yonder safety lieth; this darksome 
w r ay shall carry thee out beneath the city wall!” 

“Gramercy, thou kindly Witch!” said Jocelyn. 
“Yet first must I to the watch-house beside the gate 
for one Robin that lieth ’prisoned there.” 

“How, Fool, dost mean Robin-a-Green that is to 
hang ? ” 

“In truth!” 

“But Rob o’ the Green is outlawed, banned o’ 
Church, a very rogue ! ” 

“But a man, wherefore I would save him alive.” 

“Nay, Fool, o’ thy folly be wise and seek ye safety 
instead. Would’st peril thy body for a thief?” 

“Verily, dame, even as I did for a Witch.” 

Now, here the old woman scowled and mumbled 
and cracked her finger-bones angrily. But the 
beauteous young maid viewed Jocelyn with bright, 
approving eyes: 

“But, Fool,” cried she, “O wondrous Fool, wilt 
adventure thyself in cause so desperate?” 

“Blithely, fair lady!” 

“But, alas! the guards be many and thou but 
one-” 

“Nay !” cried a voice : 

“For thou may’st see 
That two are we!” 

And forth of the dark opening in the wall strode 
Lobkyn Lollo the Dwarf, his great, spiked club on 
brawny shoulder. Jocelyn viewed the monstrous 
little man in awed wonder; but beholding his mighty 
girth and determined aspect, wonder changed to 
kindliness; quoth he: 


107 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Fair greeting, comrade! If thou’rt for a little 
bickering and disputation with that goodly club 
o’ thine, come thy ways for methinks I do smell the 
dawn.” 

“Aha, thou naughty little one !” cried the Witch, 
shaking bony fist. “Art for fighting for rogue’s life 
along of a Fool, then?” 

Quoth Lobkyn : 

Aye, grannam, though ye slap me, still, 

Fight and aid this Fool I will- 

“And talking o’ Will,” quoth Will, “what o’ me, 
for though I’m a tanner I’m a man, aye, verily, 
as I’m a tanner.” 

“And methinks a better man than tanner!” said 
Jocelyn. “So here we stand three goodly wights and 
well armed. Let’s away-” 

“Nay, then, wild Madcap,” croaked the Witch, 
“an my Lobkyn go I go, and, though I be old and 
feeble, shalt find my craft more potent than sword 
or club — wait!” 

Here the old woman, opening a dingy cupboard, 
took thence a small crock over which she muttered 
spells and incantations with look and gesture so 
evil that Lobkyn eyed her askance. Will the Tanner 
cowered and whispered fragments of prayers, and 
even Jocelyn crossed himself. 

“Come!” croaked the Witch. “Now do I go 
to save rogue from gallows for sake of thee, tall 
Fool. Come ye, come and do as I bid ye in all 
things — come!” 


108 


FYTTE 6 


Tells how for Robin a good fight was fought 
And our old Witch a spell mysterious wrought. 


Phcebus, the young and gladsome god of day, 

His fiery steeds had yoked to flaming car 
(By which, my Gill, you may surmise 
The sun was just about to rise) 

And that be-feathered, crook-billed harbinger, 

The rosy-wattled herald of the dawn. 

Red comb aflaunt, bold-eyed and spurred for strife, 
Brave Chanticleer, his strident summons raised 
(By which fine phrase I’d have you know, 

The cock had just begun to crow) 

And gentle Zephyr, child of Boreas, 

Stole soft the hush of dewy leaves, 

And passing kissed the flowers to wakefulness. 

Thus, laden with their sweetness. Zephyr came 
O’er hill and dale, o’er battlement and wall, 

Into the sleeping town of Canalise, 

Through open lattice and through prison-bars, 

To kiss the cheek of sleeping Innocence 
And fevered brows of prisoners forlorn, 

Who, stirring ’neath sweet Zephyr’s soft caress, 
Dreamed themselves young, with all their sins un¬ 
wrought. 

So, gentle Zephyr, messenger of dawn, 

Fresh as the day-spring, of earth redolent, 

Through narrow loophole into dungeon stole, 

Where Robin the bold outlaw fettered lay, 

Who, sighing, woke to feel her fragrant kiss, 

109 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And, breathing in this perfume-laden air, 

He seemed to smell those thousand woodland scents 
He oft had known, yet, knowing, never heeded: 

Of lofty bracken, golden in the sun, 

Of dewy violets shy that bloomed dim-seen 
Beside some merry-laughing, woodland brook 
Which, bubbling, with soft music filled the air; 

The fragrant reek of smouldering camp-fire 
Aglow beside some dark, sequestered pool 
Whose placid waters a dim mirror made 
To hold the glister of some lonely star; 

He seemed to see again in sunny glade 
The silky coats of yellow-dappled deer, 

With branching antlers gallantly upborne; 

To hear the twang of bow, the whizz of shaft. 

And cheery sound of distant-winded horn. 

Of this and more than this, bold Robin thought. 

And, in his dungeon’s gloomy solitude. 

He groaned full deep and, since no eye could see, 
Shed bitter tears. 

My daughter Gillian supplicateth: 

Gill : Poor Robin ! Father, promise me 

To save him from the gallows-tree. 

He *s much too nice a man to kill; 

So save him, father; say you will! 

Myself : But think of poor Ranulph with no one to 
hang! 

Gill : Ranulph’s song was top-hole, but- 

Myself : You know I hate slang- 

Gill : Yes, father — but then I hate Ranulph much 

more, 

With his nasty great beard that in tangles he 
wore. 

So, father, if you must have some one to slay, 

Instead of poor Robin, hang Ranulph- 

Myself : " Why, pray ? 


IIO 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Gill : In nice books the nasty folks only should die; 

Those are the kind of books nice people buy. 

I like a book that makes me glad, 

And loathe a book that makes me sad; 

So, as this Geste is made for me. 

Make it as happy as can be. 

Myself : And is it, so far, as you’d wish ? 

Gill : Well, father, though it’s rather swish, 

I think it needs a deal more love- 

Myself : Swish ? How — what’s this ? Great heavens 
above! 

Will you, pray, miss, explain to me 
How any story “swish” may be? 

And why, my daughter, you must choose 
A frightful word like “swish” to use? $ 
What hideous language are you talking ? 
Gill: Sorrow, father! “Swish” means “corking.” 

I think our Geste is “out of sight,” 

Except that, to please me, you might 
Put in more love- 

Myself : Now, how can Joc’lyn go love-making 
When his head is sore and aching ? 

Besides, this is no place to woo; 

He ’ll love-make when I want him to. 

Gill : But, father, think — in all this time. 

In all this blank-verse, prose and rhyme. 

The fair Yolande he’s never kissed, 

And you’ve done nothing to assist; 

And, as I’m sure they ’re both inclined, 

I think your treatment most unkind. 
Myself : This Geste I ’ll write in my own way, 

That is, sweet Prattler, if I may; 

When I’m ready for them to kiss, 

Then kiss they shall; I promise this. 

Now I ’ll to Rob return, if you, 

My Gillian, will permit me to! * 

Thus in his prison pent, poor woeful Rob, 

Since none might see or hear, scorned not to sob, 

III 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And mightily, in stricken heart, did grieve 
That he so soon so fair a world must leave. 

And all because the morning wind had brought 
Earth’s dewy fragrance with sweet mem’ries fraught. 
So Robin wept nor sought his grief to stay, 

Yearning amain for joys of yesterday; 

Till, hearing nigh the warder’s heavy tread, 

He sobbed no more but strove to sing instead. 

“A bow for me, a bow for me, 

All underneath the greenwood tree, 

Where slaves are men, and men are free; 

Give me a bow ! 

“ Give me a bow, a bow of yew, 

Good hempen cord and arrows true, 

When foes be thick and friends be few, 

Give me a bow !” 

Thus cheerily sang Robin the while he dried 
his bitter tears, as the door of his prison was flung 
wide and Black Lewin strode in and with him 
men-at-arms bearing torches. 

“What ho, rogue Robin!” cried he. “The 
cock hath crowed. Ha! Will ye sing, knave, 
will ye sing, in faith ? ” 

“In faith, that will I!” laughed Robin. 

“Here come we to bring ye to the gallows, Robin 
— how say ye?” 

“The more reason for singing since my singing 
must soon be done!” So, with pikemen before 
him and behind, bold Robin marched forth to die, 
yet sang full blithely as he went: 

“So lay my bones ’neath good yew-tree, 

Thus Rob and yew soon one shall be. 

Where all true men may find o’ we 
A trusty bow! ” 


112 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Ha’ done!” growled Black Lewin, shivering 
in the chilly air of dawn. “Quit — quit thy singing, 
rogue, or by the foul fiend I-” 

“Who dareth name the fiend?” croaked an 
awful voice, whereat Black Lewin halted, gaped 
and stood a-tremble, while beneath steel cap and 
bascinet all men’s hair stirred and.rose with horror; 
for before them was a ghastly shape, a shape that 
crouched in the gloom with dreadful face aflame 
with smouldering green fire. 

“Woe!” cried the voice. “Woe unto thee, 
Lewin the Black, that calleth on fiend o’ the pit! ” 

And now came a fiery hand that, hovering in 
the air, pointed lambent finger at gaping Lewin 
and at each of the shivering pike-men in turn. 

“Woe — sorrow and woe to one and all, ye men 
of blood, plague and pest, pain o’ flesh, and grief 
of soul seize ye, be accursed and so — begone! 
Hence ho — away ! 

“ Rommani hi! Avaunt, I say, 

Prendraxon! 

Thus direst curse on ye I lay 

Shall make flesh shrink and bone decay, 

To rot and rot by night and day 
Till flesh and bone do fall away. 

Mud unto mud and clay to clay. 

A spell I cast. 

Shall all men blast. 

Hark ye, 

Mark ye, 

Rommani hi — prendraxon !” 

Down fell pike and guisarme from nerveless 
fingers and, gasping with fear. Black Lewin and 
his fellows turned and fled nor stayed for one look 
behind; only Robin stood there (since he might 
113 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

not run away by reason of his bonds) babbling 
prayers between chattering teeth and with all his 
fingers crossed. 

“Oho, Fool, aha!” cried the voice. “Thus 
have I, a poor, feeble old woman, wrought better 
than all thy valiance or Lobkyn’s strength. So, 
by potency of my spells and magic are we quits, 
thou and I. Bring, then, thy rogue outlaw and 
haste ye!” 

So saying the old Witch muffled her awful, fiery 
face in ragged mantle and turned away; and in 
that moment Robin was aware of three forms about 
him in the grey dawn-light, felt his bonds loosed 
off by quick, strong hands and drew a great, joyous 
breath. 

“How, Fool, thou brave and noble Motley,” 
quoth he, “is it thou again? And I to live?” 

“Aye, marry, Robin! But come apace, the 
day breaketh and the city is astir — hark to yon 
shouts! Follow!” 

So with the Tanner on one side and Lobkyn 
on the other, Robin ran, hard on Jocelyn’s heels; 
and ever the dawn brightened until up came the 
sun chasing away sullen shadow and filling street 
and alley with his glory. 

But now, and just as they reached that narrow 
street where safety lay, they heard a shout, a scream, 
a rush of feet and roar of fierce voices and beheld, 
amid a surge of armed men, the old woman struggling 
in the cruel grip of Black Lewin who (like many 
others I wot of, my Gill) was brave enough by day¬ 
light. Vainly the old creature strove, screaming 
for mercy as Black Lewin whirled aloft his sword; 
but his blade clashed upon another as Jocelyn sprang, 
and for a while the air rang with the sound of fieree- 
smiting steel until, throwing up his arms, Black 
114 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Lewin fell and lay there. But, roaring vengeance, 
the soldiery closed about Jocelyn who, beset by 
blows on every side, sank in turn, yet, even as he 
fell, two short though mighty legs bestrode his 
prostrate form and Lobkyn Lollo, whirling huge 
club, smote down the foremost assailant and, ever 
as he smote, he versified and chanted — thus : 

“I’m Lollo bight. 

Brave Lobkyn Lollo, I, 

I’m Lollo hight, 

’T is my delight 
By day or night 
In honest fight 
With main and might 
Good blows to smite. 

And where they light 
’T is sorry plight 
For that poor wight, 

Brave Lobkyn Lollo, I. 

“Bows, swords and staves, 

Come, lusty knaves, 

And fit for graves 

Brave Lobkyn soon will make ye; 

So fight, say I, 

Nor turn and fly, 

Or, when ye die. 

Then may old Horny take ye.” 

Fierce raged the conflict, but in that narrow 
street they made good play against their many 
assailants, the valiant Dwarf’s mighty club, backed 
by the Tanner’s darting pike and Robin’s flashing 
sword, which he had snatched from a loosened grasp. 
But Jocelyn lay prone upon his face, between Lob- 
kyn’s firm-planted feet, and stirred not. So club 
US 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

whirled, sword flashed and pike darted while, high 
above the tumult, rose Lobkyn’s fierce chant: 

“Hot blood I quaff, 

At death I laugh, 

Brave Lobkyn Lollo, I. 

Come all that may. 

And all I ’ll slay, 

And teach ye how to die.” 

“Lob — Lobkyn !” screamed the Witch. “Thou 
that drinkest nought but milk — talk not of blood, 
thou naughty poppet. Back now — stand back, 
I do command thee ! ” 

Lobkyn smote a man to earth and, sighing regret¬ 
ful, stepped aside. 

“Back!” screamed the Witch. “Stand back, I 
say, all three, 

And leave this wicked rabblement to me. 

Now shall they learn the terror of my curse, 

Black magic shall they feel — and something worse ! ” 

Then uttered she a sudden, hideous cry, 

And, leaping, whirled her bony hands on high, 

And lo! a choking dust-cloud filled the air, 

That wreathed in whirling eddies here and there. 

“ Perendewix! ” she cried. “Om Radzywin — 
Thraxa! Behold, my witchcraft doth begin ! ” 
Back shrank their foes, back reeled they one and 
all, 

They choked, they gasped, they let their weapons 
fall; 

And some did groan, and some did fiercely sneeze. 
And some fell prone, some writhed upon their knees; 
Il6 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Some strove to wipe the tears from blinded eyes, 
But one and all gave voice to awful cries. 

“Come!” cried the Witch, “to the door — the 
door. Lobkyn, bear ye the brave Fool — and 
tenderly ! Haste, naughty bantling, haste — I hear 
the tread of more soldiers !” 

So Lobkyn stooped and, lifting Jocelyn’s inani¬ 
mate form, tucked it beneath one arm, and with 
Robin and Will the Tanner, followed the old Witch 
into the house. 

My daughter Gillian commandeth : 

Gill : Go on, father, do; why will you keep 

stopping ? 

I think the old Witch is just perfectly 
topping. 

And what frightful words she uses for 
curses! 

Myself : Very frightful, indeed, though your slang 
still much worse is, 

With your “topping,” “top-holing,” your 
“swishing” and “clipping,” 

Gill : Well, I merely intended to say it was ripping; 

But, if you object to my praises- 

Myself : I only object to your phrases, 

For there’s no author but will own 
He “liveth not by bread alone.” 

As for myself, if what I write 
Doth please — then praise with all your 
might. 

Gill : Well, then, the Witch is splendid, though 

I’m very curious to know 
Just how her face all fiery grew, 

And what the stuff was that she threw — 
The stuff that made the soldiers sneeze 
And brought them choking to their knees 
It sounds as though it might be snuff. 

117 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Myself : My dear, they ’d not found out such stuff. 
But grisly witches long ago 
Did many strange devices know. 

Indeed, my Gill, they knew much more 
Than wise folk gave them credit for. 

Gill : Well, what was it ? You have n’t said. 

Myself : I ’ll get on with our Geste instead. 


I 


118 


FYTTE 7 


That telleth to the patient reader nought, 

Save how the Duke was to the wild-wood brought. 


With sleepy eyes Duke Jocelyn watched afar. 

In deep, blue void a solitary star, 

That, like some bright and wakeful eye, did seem 
To watch him where he lay ’twixt sleep and dream. 
And, as he viewed it winking high above, 

He needs must think of Yolande and his love, 

And how, while he this twinkling star did view. 

She, wakeful lying, might behold it too, 

Whereas she lay a spotless maid and fair. 

Clothed in the red-gold glory of her hair; 

And, thinking thus, needs must he fondly sigh. 

Then frowned to hear a lusty snore hard by — 

and looking whence came this sound, the Duke 
sat up and his wonder grew; for by light of a fire 
that glowed in a blackened fissure of rock he beheld 
himself couched on a bed of bracken within a roomy 
cave. Beside the fire leaned a mighty, iron-shod 
club, and beyond this, curled up like a dog, snored 
Lobkyn Lollo, the Dwarf. Hereupon Jocelyn 
reached out and shook Lob to wakefulness, who 
grunted sleepily, rubbed his eyes drowsily and 
yawned mightily: 

Quoth Jocelyn : Good Dwarf, where am I ? 
Answered Lobkyn : 

Safe, Fool, safe art thou, I trow, 

Where none but Lob and friends do know. 
119 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Jocelyn : But how am I hither ? 

Lobkyn : Why, truly thou art hither, Fool, 

Because thou art not thither, Fool! 

In these two arms, thy life to save, 

I bore thee to this goodly cave. 

Jocelyn : How may one of thy inches bear man of 
mine so far ? 

Lobkyn : Why, Fool, though I of inches lack, 

I’m mighty strong, both arm and back, 
Thou that art longer man than me, 

Yet I am stronger man than thee, 
Though, lusty Fool, big fool you be, 

I ’d bear thee, Fool, if thou wert three. 
And mark, Fool, if my grammar seemeth 
weak, 

Pray license it since I in verse must 
speak. 

Jocelyn : And pray why must thou speak in verse ? 
Lobkyn : Nature hath on me laid this curse. 

And, though to speak plain prose I yearn, 
My prose to verse doth ever turn. 
Therefore I grieve, as well I might, 
Because of my poetic plight — 

Though bards and rhymers all I scorn, 
Alack! I was a rhymer born. 

Jocelyn : Alack! poor Dwarf, as thou must versify. 
By way of courtesy, then, so will I. 
Lobkyn : How, Fool, then canst thou rhyme ? 
Jocelyn : Aye, Dwarf, at any time ! 

In dark, in light. 

By day, by night, 

Standing, sitting, 

As be fitting, 

Verses witty, 

Quaint or pretty, 

Incontinent I ’ll find. 


120 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Verses glad, Dwarf, 

Verses sad, Dwarf, 

Every sort, Lob, 

Long or short. Lob 
Or verses ill. 

Yet verses still 
Which might be worse, 

I can rehearse 

When I’m for verse inclined. 

So, Lob, first speak me what became 
Of our old Witch, that potent dame. 

Lobkyn : Why, Fool, in faith she wrought so well 
With direful curse and blasting spell 
That every howling soldier-knave, 

Every rogue and base-born slave 
That by chance I did not slay, 

From my grand-dam ran away. 

Jocelyn : A noble Witch ! Now, Lobkyn, tell 
What hap’d when in the fight I fell. 

And how alive I chance to be. 

Lobkyn : Fool, I was there to succour thee. 

I smote those pike-men hip and thigh. 
That they did mangled pike-men lie; 
Their arms, their legs, their skulls I 
broke, 

Two, three, and four at every stroke. 

I drave them here, I smote them there, 

I smote, I slew, I none did spare, 

I laughed, I sang, I- 

“Ha, Lob!” growled a sleepy voice. “Now, as 
I’m a tanner, here’s a-many Fs ! By Saint Crispin, 
meseemeth thou ’rt all Fs — for as thou fought I 
fought, or thought I fought, forsooth! ” 

121 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Lobkyn : True, Will, dicTst fight in goodly manner, 
Though fightedst, Will, like any tanner; 
But I did fight, or I’m forsworn, 

Like one unto the manner born. 

I fought, forsooth, with such good will, 

’T is marvel I’m not fighting still. 

And so I should be, by my fay. 

An I had any left to slay; 

But since I slew them all- 

“Hold there!’’ cried the Tanner. “I slew one 
or two, Lob, and Robin likewise. Thou ’rt a lusty 
fighter, but what o’ me and Robin — ha, what o’ 
we?” 

Lobkyn : In faith, ye ’re proper men and tall, 

And I’m squat man, my stature small, 
Nath’less, though small and squat I be, 

I am the best man of the three. 

“Why, as to that,” quoth the Tanner, “’tis but 
you says so ! As to me I think what I will, and I do 
think-” 

But here Lobkyn started up and seized the great 
club; quoth he : 

“Hark and mark. 

Heard ye nought there i’ the dark ? ” 

“Not I!” answered Will. 

“Methought I heard an owl hoot,” said Jocelyn. 
“Aye,” nodded Lobkyn: 

“Aye, Fool, and yet this owl I ’ll swear, 

Hath ne’er a feather anywhere. 

This owl hath ne’er a wing to fly, 

But goes afoot like thou and I. 

Now mark, 

And hark!” 


122 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Hereupon the Dwarf laid finger to lip and uttered 
an owl-cry so dismal, so tremulous and withal 
so true to nature that it was wonder to hear. In¬ 
stantly, from the dimness beyond the cavern- 
mouth, the cry was repeated, and presently was 
heard a panting and ’plaining, a snuffling and a 
shuffling, and into the light of the fire hobbled the 
old Witch. Beholding Jocelyn sitting cross-legged 
on his couch of fern, she paused and, leaning on her 
crooked stick, viewed him with her wise, old eyes. 

“Aha, Motley!” she croaked. “Oho, thou 
flaunting jackanapes, didst peril thy foolish flesh 
for me that am poor and old and feeble, and cursed 
by all for witchcraft! So have I with my potions 
ministered to thee in thy sickness, and behold 
thou ’rt alive, hale and strong again. Give me thy 
hand ! Aha, here’s cool, unfevered blood ! Show 
me thy tongue. Oho! Aha! A little sup o’ my 
black decoction — roots gathered at full o’ moon 
— a little sup and shall be thyself by to-morrow’s 
dawn. But—as for thee, thou good-for-naught, thou 
wicked elf — aha ! would’st dare leave thy poor old 
grannam weak and ’fenceless ? Give me thy rogue- 
ear ! ” Obediently, the mighty Dwarf arose and sigh- 
fully suffered the old woman to grasp him by the ear 
and to tweak and wring and twist it as she would. 

“What dost thou here i’ the wild-wood, thou 
imp, thou poppet o’ plagues, thou naughty wap- 
de-staldees ? ” 

To which Lobkyn, writhing and watering at the 
eyes, answered thus: 

“ Stay, prithee grannam, loose thy hold ! 

I would but be an outlaw bold, 

An outlaw fierce that men shall fear — 

Beseech thee, grand-dam, loose mine earl” 

123 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“An outlaw, naughty one!” screeched the Witch, 
tweaking ear the harder. “Dare ye tell me so, elf?” 

Lobkyn : Aye, grand-dam — cuff me an ye will, 
Nath’less an outlaw I ’ll be still, 

And many a wicked rogue I ’ll kill — 

O grand-dam, loose mine ear ! 

And day and night I ’ll slay until 
All rogues my name do fear. 

For grand-dam, I’m a fighter — O, 

Beseech thee, let my ear go ! 

And bones shall crack and blood shall flow. 

If any dare resist me. 

And all the world my name shall know, 

Pray by the ear don’t twist me! 

All men before my club shall fly, 

All on their knees shall “mercy” cry, 

Or mangled in their gore shall lie — 

Ah, grand-dam, pray don’t clout me! 

Don’t beat me, grannam dear, but try 
To do awhile without me- 

“Without thee, thou piece o’ naughtiness?” 
screamed the old woman. “Now will I lay my 
stick about thee — hold still, Rogue !” 

Saying which, she proceeded to belabour the 
poor Dwarf with her knotted stick, clutching him 
fast by his ear the while. Thus she be-thwacked 
him soundly until he roared for mercy. 

“Why, how now — how now?” cried a merry 
voice, and Robin strode into the firelight. “Gentle 
Witch, sweet dame,” quoth he, “what do ye with 
poor Lob ? ” 

“Thwack him shrewdly!” 

“Which is, Witch, that which none but witch 
the like o’ thee might do, for lustier fighter and 
124 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

mightier dwarf never was. Thus, but for thy witch¬ 
like witcheries, the which, Witch, witch do prove 
thee, but for this and the power and potency of thy 
spells, now might he crack out thy life ’twixt finger 
and thumb-” 

“Ha, forest-rogue, ’t is a bad brat, a very naughty 
elf would run off into the wild to be rogue like thee 
— an outlaw, forsooth !” 

“Forsooth, Witch/’ laughed Robin, “outlaw is he 
in very truth, in sooth and by my troth! Outlaw 
is Lob, banned by Church and Council of Ten, and 
so proclaimed i’ the market square of Canalise this 
very morn by sound o’ trumpet and-■” 

“How? How?” cried the old woman, wringing 
her trembling hands. “My Lobkyn outlawed? 
My babe, my lovely brat, my pretty bantling, woe 
and alas ! My dear ugly one an outlaw ? ” 

“Aye, marry is he, Witch, outlaw proclaimed, 
acclaimed, announced, pronounced and denounced; 
as such described, ascribed and proscribed by Master 
Gregory Bax, the port-reeve, for the late slaying 
and maiming of divers of the city guard. So outlaw 
is Lobkyn, his life henceforth forfeit even as mine.” 

“My Lobkyn an hairy outlaw i’ the wild-wood! 
Out alas! And what of his poor old grannam ? 
What o’ me-?” 

“Content thee, sweet hag, since thou ’rt out¬ 
lawed along with him and, as witch, doomed to die 
unpleasantly by fire and flame and faggot, if thou ’rt 
caught.” 

“Alack! Wala-wa! Woe ’s me!” groaned the 
Witch, cracking her finger-bones. “And all this 
by reason o’ the Fool yonder.” 

“Why, the Fool is dubbed outlaw likewise, 
Witch,” quoth Robin. “Outlaw is he along o’ thee 
and Tanner Will.” 

125 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“And all by reason that this Fool must needs 
peril our lives for sake of rogue-outlaw, of forest- 

robber, of knavish woodland-lurker-” 

“Hight Robin!” laughed Robin, leaning on 
his long bow-stave. “Now, this brave Fool having 
saved Robin his life, Witch, the which. Witch, was 
good thing for Robin, our Fool next saved thee. 
Witch, which was nought to Robin, in the which. 
Witch, Robin did not joy; for thou, old Witch, 
being witch, art therefore full o’ witcheries which be 
apt to be-devil a man and fright his reason, for 
the which reason, being reasonable man, I reason, 
for this reason, that, so reasoning, I love thee not. 
But thou art old, Witch, which is good reason to 
reasonably reason thou art wise, Witch, and, being 
wise, I on this wise would seek counsel of thy wis¬ 
dom, Witch. Imprimis, then-” 

“Hold !” commanded the Witch; “here’s a whirl 
o’ windy wind! Hast more of such-like, forester?” 

“Some little, Witch, which I will now, Witch-” 

“Nay, then, Robin-a-Green, suffer me to rest 
my old bones whiles thy mill clacks.” Hereupon 
the old Witch seated herself beside the fire, with 
bony knees up-drawn to bony chin. “Speak, out¬ 
law Robin,” she croaked, blinking her red eyes, 
“and speak ye plain.” 

“Why, then, wise Witch, look ’ee: since we be out¬ 
laws each and every, with all men’s hands against 
us, with none to succour, and death watchful for 
us, ’t is plain, and very plain, we, for our harbourage 

and defence, must in the wild-wood bide-” 

“Ho !” cried Lobkyn : 

“It soundeth good, 

The brave wild-wood, 

Where flowers do spring 
126 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And birds do sing. 

To slay the deer 
And make good cheer, 

With mead and beer, 

The livelong year. 

And-” 

“Roar not, toad !” cried the Witch. “Say on — 
Rogue-Robin! ” 

“Why, mark me, good Witch, here’s where 
buskin chafeth! Not long since I ruled i’ the 
wild-wood, a very king, with ten-score lusty out¬ 
law-rogues to do my will. To-day is there never 
an one, and for this reasonable reason — to wit, 
I am hanged, and, being hanged, am dead, and, 
being dead, am not, and thus Robin is nobody; 
and yet again, perceive me, Witch, being Robin, 
I am therefore somebody; thus is nobody some¬ 
body, and yet somebody that nobody will believe 
anybody. The which, Witch, is a parlous case, 
methinks, for here am I, somebody, nobody and 
Robin altogether and at the same time; therefore, 
Witch, o’ thy witchful wisdom — who am I, what 
and which, Witch?” 

Here the Witch blinked and mowed, and cracked 
her finger-bones one after another. Quoth she: 

“ For thy first, thou ’rt thyself; for the second, 
a rogue; and for the third, a wind-bag. I would 
thy second might tie up thy first in thy third.” 

“So should Robin choke Robin with Robin. 
But hark ’ee again, good, patient dame. It seemeth 
that Ranulph the executioner betaketh him at 
cock-crow to hang poor me; but, finding me not, 
made great outcry, insomuch that the city guard, 
such as mighty Lob and Will had left alive, sought 
counsel together; and taking one of their slain 
127 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

fellows, Ranulph hanged him in my stead, and there 
he hangeth now, above the city gate, his face so 
marred that he might be me or any other.” 

“Ha, Robin — well?” 

“This day, at sunset, came I unto the trysting- 
oak, and by blast of horn summoned me my out¬ 
law company. They came apace and in great 
wonderment, for, seeing me, they fell to great awe 
and dread, thinking me dead, since many had seen 
my body a-dangle on the gallows; wherefore, see¬ 
ing me manifestly alive, they took me for ghoulish 
ghost ’stead o’ good flesh and blood, and fled from 
me amain. So, by reason of my dead body, that 
is no body o’ mine, yet that nobody will believe 
is no body o’ mine, they believe that this my body 
is yet no body, but a phantom; the which is out 
of reason; yet thus unreasonably do the rogues 
reason by reason of the body that hangeth in place 
of my body above the city gate. Wherefore I reason 
there is yet reason in their unreason, seeing this body 
was somebody, yet no body o’ mine, but which 
nobody among them can swear to. Which, Witch, 
is a matter which none but wise witch may counsel 
me in. How say’st thou, Witch ? ” 

But for a while the old Witch scowled on the 
fire, bony chin on bony knees, and dreamily cracked 
her finger-joints. 

“Oho!” she cried suddenly. “Aha —a body 
that nobody’s is, yet body that everybody knoweth 
for body o’ thine — aha! So must nobody know 
that nobody’s body is not thy body. Dost see my 
meaning, Robin-a-Green ? ” 

“No whit, Witch! Thou growest involved, thy 
talk diffuse, abstruse and altogether beyond one 

so obtuse as simple Rob-” 

“Then hark ’ee again, Addlepate! Everybody 
128 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

must believe nobody’s body thy body, so by dead 
body will I make thy live body of so great account 
to everybody that nobody henceforth shall doubt 
dead body made live body, by my witchcraft, and 
thou be feared, therefore, of everybody. Dost 
follow me now, numskull?” 

“Aye, truly, mother! And truly ’t is a rare 
subtlety, a notable wile, and thou a right cunning 
witch and wise. But how wilt achieve this wonder ? ” 

“Since dead thou art, I to life will bring thee. 
Oho, I will summon thee through fire and flame; 
aha, I will make thee more dreaded than heretofore; 
thy fame shall fill the wild-wood and beyond. 
Know’st thou the Haunted Wood, hard by Thraxby 
Waste?” 

Now here Robin’s merry smile languished, and 
he rubbed nose with dubious finger. 

“Aye, I do,” quoth he sombrely; “an ill place and 
— demon-rid, they say-” 

“Come ye there to-morrow at midnight.” 

“Alone?” says Robin, starting. 

“Alone!” 

“Nay, good Witch, most gentle, potent dame, I — 
though phantom accounted, I love not phantoms, 
and Thraxby Waste-” 

“Come ye there — at midnight!” 

“Why, then, good Witch, an come I must, suffer 
that I bring the valiant Fool and mighty Lob — 
prithee, now!” 

At this the old Witch scowled and mumbled- 
and crackled her finger-bones louder than ever. 

“Oho!” cried she at last, “thou great child, 
afraid-o’-the-dark, bring these an ye will — but 
none other! ” 

“Good mother, I thank thee!” 

“Tchak!” cried the Witch, and, struggling to 
129 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

her feet, hobbled to Jocelyn and laid bony finger 
on wrist and brow, nodded, mumbled, and so, 
bent on her staff, hobbled away; but, reaching the 
cave-mouth, she paused, and smote stick to earth 
fiercely. 

“To-morrow!” she croaked. “Midnight! 
Re-member!” 


130 


FYTTE 8 


Tells how the Witch, with incantations dire. 
In life to life brought Robin through the fire. 


The wind was cold — indeed ’t was plaguy chill — 
That furtive crept and crept, like something ill 
Stealing with dreadful purpose in the dark, 

With scarce a sound its stealthy course to mark; 
While pallid moon did seem to swoon, as though 
It ghastly things beheld on earth below; 

And Robin gripped the good sword by his side, 

And Joc’lyn looked about him watchful-eyed; 

While Lobkyn Lollo felt and looked the bolder 
By reason of the club across his shoulder. 

“Here,” whispered Robin, peering through the 
gloom, 

“Is dismal place, I ’ve heard, of death and doom. 
Here do be ghosts and goblins, so ? t is said, 

Demons, phantoms, spectres of the dead-” 

“Aye, verily,” quoth Lob, “and what is worse, 

’T is here my grand-dam oft doth come to curse, 
And haunteth it with spiteful toads and bats, 

With serpents fell, with ewts and clawful cats. 

Here doth she revel hold o’ moony nights. 

With grave-rank ghouls and moaning spectral 
sprites; 

And . . . Saints! what’s that ? 

A hook-winged bat ? 

Not so; perchance, within its hairy body fell 
Is man or maid transformed by magic spell. 

131 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

0, brothers, heedful be, and careful tread 
Lest magic gin should catch and strike us dead! 

O would my grannam might go with us here. 

Since, being witch, she doth no witchcraft fear.” 

So came the three at last to Haunted Wood, 

Where mighty trees in gloomy grandeur stood, 
Their wide-flung boughs so closely interweaving 
Scarce space between for ghostly moonbeams 
leaving; 

But, snake-like, round each other closely twined, 

In shuddering wind did mournful voices find. 

And, groaning, writhed together to and fro 
Like souls that did the fiery torment know. 

Thus, in the wood, ’t was dark and cold and dank, 
And breathed an air of things long dead and rank; 
While shapes, dim-seen, did creep and flit and fly 
With sudden squeak, and bodeful, wailing cry. 

At last they reached a clearing in the wood, 

Where, all at once, as ’mid the leaves they stood, 
From Lobkyn’s lips, loud, tremulous, and high. 
There rose and swelled the owlet’s shuddering cry. 
Scarce on the air this dismal sound had died, 

When they the Witch’s hobbling form espied. 
Beholding Robin, by the arm she caught him, 

And to a place of rocks in haste she brought him; 
And here, where bosky thickets burgeoned round, 
She pointed to a chasm in the ground. 

“Go down!” she hissed. “Go down, thou thing 
of clay, 

Thou that art dead — into thy grave I say. 

Since thou ’rt hanged, a dead man shalt thou be 
Till from thy grave my spells shall summon 
thee-” 


132 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“My grave?” gasped Robin, blenching from her 
frown. 

“Aye, Rogue!” she croaked. “Behold thy grave! 
Go down!” 

So shiv’ring Robin, in most woeful plight, 

Crept into gloom and vanished from their sight. 
“O, Robin, Robin!” the old Witch softly cried, 
“Alack, I’m here!” faint voice, below, replied. 
“Thou dead,” croaked she, “thou ghostly shade 
forlorn, 

From charnel-vault sound now thy spectral horn, 
Sound now thy rallying-note, then silent be 
Till from thy mouldering tomb I summon thee!” 

Now, on the stillness rose the ghostly sound 
Of Robin’s hunting horn that through the ground 
Rang thin and high, unearthly-shrill and clear. 
That thrilled the shivering woodland far and near. 
And shuddering to silence, left behind 
A whisper as of leaves in stealthy wind. 

A rustling ’mid the underbrush they heard 
Where, in the gloom about them, dim things 
stirred — 

Vague, stealing shapes that softly nearer drew. 

Till from the tree-gloom crept a ragged crew. 

Wild men and fierce, a threatening, grimly herd, 
Who stood like shadows, speaking not a word; 

And the pale moon in fitful flashes played 
On sword and headpiece, pike and broad axe-blade. 
While the old hag, o’er witch-fire crouching low, 
Puffed at the charcoal till it was aglow; 

Then hobbling round and round her crackling fire, 
She thus began her incantations dire: 

“ Come ye long-dead. 

Ye spirits dread, 


133 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Ye things of quaking fear. 

Ye poor, lost souls. 

Ye ghosts, ye ghouls, 

Haxwiggin bids ye here ! 

By one by two, by two by three, 

Spirits of Night, I summon ye, 

By three by four, by four by five, 

Come ye now dead that were alive. 
Come now I bid ye 
From grave-clods rid ye, 

Come! 

From South and North, 

I bid ye forth, 

From East, from West, 

At my behest — 

Come! 

Come great, come small, 

Come one, come all, 

Heed ye my call, 

List to my call, I say. 

From pitchy gloom 
Of mouldered tomb 
Here find ye room 
For sport and holiday. 

Come grisly ghosts and goblins pale. 
Come spirits black and grey, 

Ye shrouded spectres — Hail, O Hail! 
Ho ! ? t is your holiday. 

Come wriggling snakes 
From thorny brakes, 

Hail! 

Come grimly things 
With horny wings. 

That flit, that fly, 

That croak, that cry, 

Hail! 


134 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Come ghouls, come demons one and all, 
Here revel whiles ye may; 

Ye noisome things that creep and crawl, 
Come, sport and round me play. 

Ho, claw and wing and hoof and horn. 

Here revel till the clammy dawn. 

“Peeping, creeping. 

Flying, crying, 

Fighting, biting,. 

Groaning, moaning, 

Ailing, wailing. 

Spirits fell, 

Come to my spell, 

Ho !’t is your holiday ! 

So, are ye there. 

High up in air, 

The moonbeams riding 
’Mid shadows hiding ? 

“Now gather round, ye spectral crew, 

This night have we brave work to do — 
Bold Robin o’ the Green, ’t is said. 

On gallows hangeth cold and dead 
Beneath the sky 
On gibbet high, 

They in a noose did swing him. 

Go, goblins, go, 

And ere they know, 

Unto me hither bring him.” 

Here paused the Witch to mend her glowing fire. 
While each man to his neighbour shuffled nigher, 
As witch-flame leapt and ever brighter grew, 

Till, to their horror, sudden it burned blue; 

Whereat each silent, fearful beholder 

Felt in the gloom to touch his fellow’s shoulder, 

I3S 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Yet, in that moment, knew an added dread 
To see the fire from blue turn ghastly red; 

Then, as the Witch did o’er it crooning lean. 

Behold! it changed again to baleful green. 

Whereat the Witch flung bony arms on high, 

As though with claw-like hands she’d rend the sky; 
And while the lurid flames leapt ever higher, 

She thus invoked the Spirit of the Fire. 

“As fire doth change, yet, changed, unchanged doth 
burn. 

By fiery spell shall dead to life return ! 

“Ho, goblins yonder — ’neath the moon, 

Have ye brought me the dead so soon ? 

Ha! is it Robin that ye bring, 

That pale, that stiff, that clammy thing ? 

Now work we spell with might and main, 

Shall make it live and breathe again. 

“Now in and out, 

And round about. 

Ye wriggling rout, 

With hoof and claw and wing; 

Now high, now low, 

Now fast, now slow, 

Now to and fro 
Tread we a magic ring. 

“Thus, while the frighted moon doth peep, 

We ’ll wake this cold, dead thing from sleep, 

Till Robin back to life shall leap. 

And when he from the fire shall spring, 

Ye outlaws hail him for your King. 

“For on that wight 
Who, day or night, 

136 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Shall Robin disobey 
With purpose fell 
I’ll cast a spell 
Shall wither him away. 

“Ho, Robin! Ope thy death-cold eyes, 

Ho, Robin ! From thy grave arise, 

Ho, Robin ! Robin, ho ! 

Robin that doth bide so near me, 

Robin, Robin, wake and hear me. 

Ho, Robin ! Robin, ho ! 

“Back to life I summon thee, 

Through the fire thy path must be. 

Through the fire that shall not harm thee, 
Through flame that back to life shall charm thee, 
Shall warm thy body all a-cold, 

And make grim Death loose clammy hold. 

Ho, Robin-a-Green, 

Ho, Robin a-Green, 

Leap back to life by all men seen!” 

Through curling smoke-wreaths and through writh¬ 
ing flame. 

With mighty bound, bold Robin leaping came, 

And by the Witch did in the fire-light stand, 

Sword by his side and bugle-horn in hand, 

And laughed full blithe as he was wont to do, 

And, joyous, hailed his wild and ragged crew: 

“What lads, are ye there forsooth? Is’t Myles 
I see with lusty Watt and John and Hal o’ the 
Quarterstaff ? God den t’ ye, friends, and merry 
hunting to one and all, for by oak and ash and thorn 
here stand I to live with thee, aye, good lads, and to 
die with ye here in the good greenwood-” 

137 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

But now and all at once from that grim and silent 
company a mighty shout went up: 

“ ’T is Robin — ’t is Robin, ’t is bold Robin-a- 
Green ! ’T is our Robin himself come back to us !” 

And fearful no longer, they hasted to him and 
clasped him in brawny arms, hugging him mightily 
and making great rejoicing over him. 


FYTTE 9 


That tells almost as fully as it should. 
The joys of living in the good greenwood. 


Deep-hidden in the trackless wild the outlaws 
had made them a haven of refuge, a camp remote 
and well sequestered. Here were mossy, fern-clad 
rocks that soared aloft, and here green lawns where 
ran a blithesome brook; it was indeed a very pleasant 
place shut in by mighty trees. Within this leafy 
boskage stood huts of wattle, cunningly wrought; 
beneath the steep were many caves carpeted with 
dried fern and fragrant mosses, while everywhere, 
above and around, the trees spread mighty boughs, 
through which the sun darted golden beams be- 
dappling the sward, and in whose leafy mysteries 
the birds made joyous carolling. 

And here beneath bending willows arched over 
this merry brook, one sun-bright morning riotous 
with song of birds, sat Jocelyn with Robin a-sprawl 
beside him. 

“O brother,” says Robin, “O brother, ’t is a fair 
place the greenwood, a fair, sweet place to live — 
aye, or to die in methinks, this good greenwood, 
whereof I have made a song — hark ’ee!” 

“Oho, it is a right good thing 
When trees do bud and flowers do spring 
All in the wood, the fair, green wood, 

To hear the birds so blithely sing, 

Adown, adown, hey derry down. 

All in the good, green wood. 

139 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“ Who cometh here leaves grief behind, 

Here broken man hath welcome kind, 

All in the wood, the fair, green wood. 

The hopeless here new hope may find, 

Adown, adown, hey derry down, 

All in the kind, green wood. 

“Ho, friend, ’tis pleasant life we lead, 

No laws have we, no laws we need 
Here i’ the good, green wood. 

For every man’s a man indeed, 

Adown, adown, hey derry down, 

Here i’ the good, green wood. 

“All travellers that come this way 
Must something in fair tribute pay 
Unto the wood, the fair, green wood. 

Or here in bonds is like to stay, 

Adown, adown, hey derry down, 

Lost i’ the good, green wood. 

“Full many a lord, in boastful pride, 

This tribute, scornful, hath denied 
Unto the wood, the fair, green wood. 

And thereupon hath sudden died, 

Adown, adown, hey derry down, 

All in the fair, green wood. 

“And when our time shall come to die 
Methinks we here may softly lie 
Deep in the fair, green wood. 

With birds to sing us lullaby, 

Adown, adown, hey derry down, 

All in the good, green wood.” 

“So there it is, brother — and life and death in a 
nutshell, as ’twere. Now, wherefore wilt not join 
us and turn outlaw, good Fool?” 

140 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“For that I am a fool belike, Robin. Howbeit, 
I’m better Fool than outlaw.” 

“Say, rather, greater fool, Fool, for foresters’ life 
is better than life o’ folly, and payeth better to 
boot, what with booty — ha ! Moreover, I do love 
thee, since, Fool, though fool, art wise in counsel 
and valiant beyond thought — so ’t is I would not 
lose thee. Stay, therefore, and live my comrade and 
brother, equal with me in all things. How say’st 
thou?” 

“Why, Robin, I say this: True friendship is a 
goodly thing and a rare in this world, and, therefore, 
to be treasured; ’t is thing no man may buy or seek, 
since itself is seeker and cometh of itself; ’t is a 
prop — a staff in stony ways, a shield ’gainst foes, 
a light i’ the dark. So do I love friendship, Robin, 
and thou ’rt my friend, yet must leave thee, though 
friendship shall abide.” 

Quoth Robin : How abide an we be parted ? 

“In heart and mind and memory, Robin. More¬ 
over, though I go, yet will I return anon, an life be 
mine.” 

“And wherefore go ye, brother?” 

“First to seek my comrade.” 

“Thy comrade — ha ! I mind him, a fierce great 
fellow with hawk’s beak and a fighting eye. And 
whither trend ye?” 

“To Canalise.” 

“Art crazed, brother? ’Tis there death waiteth 
thee!” 

“Yet must I go, Robin, since there my heart 
waiteth me.” 

“A maid, brother?” 

“A maid, Robin.” 

“Heigho! So wilt thou go, come joy, come pain, 
come life or death, since a maid is made to make 

141 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

man saint or devil, some days glad and some days 
sad, but ever and always a fool. And thou art Fool 
by profession, and, being lover professed and con¬ 
fessed, art doubly a fool; and since, good Folly, 
love’s but folly and thou, a Fool, art deep in folly, 
so is thy state most melancholy.” 

“And dost think love so great folly, Robin?” 
said a soft voice, and, looking round, they beheld 
the lovely, dark-tressed Melissa, who viewed them 
bright-eyed and pouted red mouth, frowning a little. 

“Aye, verily, lady,” laughed Robin, as she sank 
on the grass beside them. “Forsooth, ’tis a mad¬ 
ness fond. For see, now, a man being in love is 
out of all else.” 

“As how, Sir Outlaw?” 

“Marry, on this wise — when man’s in love he 
mopeth apart and is ill company, so is he out o’ 
friends; he hangeth humble head abashed, so is 
he out o’ countenance; he uttereth frequent, windy, 
sighful suspirations, so is he out o’ breath; he 
lavisheth lucre on his love, so is he out o’ pocket; 
he forsweareth food, despiseth drink, scorneth sleep, 
so is he out o’ health — in fine, he is out of all things, 
so is he out of himself; therefore he is mad, and so 
may go hang himself!” 

Melissa : And hast thou loved, Robin ? 

Robin : Ever and always, and none but Robin! 

Melissa : And none more worthy, Robin ? 

Robin : And none more, as I am worthy Robin. 

Melissa : Lovest thou not Love, Robin ? 

Robin : Love, love not I. 

Melissa : Then Love canst thou know not. 

Robin : Then if I love Love for Love’s sake, must 
Love then love me, therefore ? 

Melissa : If thy love for Love be true love, so 
shall Love love thee true. 

142 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Robin : Then if Love should love me for my sake, 
then would I love Love for Love’s sake; but since 
Love ne’er hath sought me for my sake, ne’er will I 
seek Love for Love’s sake for my sake, since Love, 
though plaguy sweet, is a sweet plague, I judge and, 
so judging, will by my judgment stand. 

Melissa : And how think you, Sir Fool ? 

Jocelyn: I think if Love find Robin and Robin, 
so found of Love, shall learn to love Love for Love’s 
sake, Love shall teach Robin how, in loving Love — 
Love, if a plague, doth but plague him lovingly to 
his better judgment of Love, till, being on this wise, 
wise — he shall judge of Love lovingly, loving Love 
at last for Love’s own lovely sake, rather than for 
his own selfish self. For as there is the passion of 
love, the which is a love selfish, so there is the true 
Spirit of Love, the which forgetteth self in Love’s 
self, thus, self-forgotten, Love is crowned by Love’s 
true self. 

Melissa : How think ye of this, Robin ? 

Robin : By Cupid, we are so deep in love that we 
are like to drown of love and we be not wary. Here 
hath my lovely jowlopped-crested brother so beset 
poor Robin with Love and self and Robin, that 
Robin kens not which is Love, Love’s self or 
himself. 

Melissa : And yet I do think ’t is very plain! 
Yet an thou canst express this plainer, prithee do, 
Sir Fool. 

“Blithely, sweet lady, here will I frame my mean¬ 
ing in a rhyme, thus : 

“Who loveth Love himself above, 

With Love base self transcending 

Love, Love shall teach how Love may reach 

The Love that hath no ending. 

143 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“ ’T is thus Love-true, Love shall renew, 

Love’s love thus waning never, 

So love each morn of Love new-born, 

Love shall live loving ever.” 

Robin : Aye, verily, there’s Love and yet such 
a love as no man may find methinks, brother. 

Jocelyn : Never, Robin, until it find him. For 
true love, like friendship, cometh unsought, like 
all other good things. 

Robin : ’Las ! then needs must I be no good thing 
since I am sought e’en now of old Mopsa the Witch 
yonder! 

And he pointed where the old creature hobbled 
towards them bent on her crooked staff. Up rose 
Robin and, hasting to meet her, louted full low, 
since she was held in great respect of all men by 
reason of her potent spells. Chuckling evilly, she 
drew down Robin’s tall head to whisper in his ear, 
whereupon he laughed, clapped hand to brawny 
thigh, and taking old Mopsa’s feeble arm, hastened 
away with her. But Melissa, reclining ’neath the 
willow-shade, gazed down into the murmurous 
waters of the brook with eyes of dream whiles 
Jocelyn struck soft, sweet chords upon his lute. 
And presently she turned to view him thoughtfully 
— his strange, marred face; his eyes so quick and 
keen ’neath battered cock’s-comb; his high, proud 
bearing despite his frayed and motley habit; and 
ever her wonder grew until, at last, she must needs 
question him: 

“Fools, Sir Fool, have I seen a-many, both in the 
motley and out, but thou art rare among all fools, 
I do think.” 

Jocelyn : Gramercy, lady! Truly fool am I of 
all fools singular. 


144 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Melissa : Thou Tt he I heard, upon a day, sing 
strange, sweet songs, within the marketplace of 
Canalise! 

Jocelyn : The same, lady. 

Melissa : That soused my lord Gui head over 
ears in a lily-pool ? 

Jocelyn : Verily, lady. 

Melissa : O ! Would one might do as much for 
Sir Agramore of Biename ! 

Jocelyn : One doubtless will, lady. 

Melissa: Thyself? 

Jocelyn : Nay — one that loveth the disputatious 
bickering of sharp steel better than I — one had 
rather fight than eat, and rather fight three men than 
one- 

“Three men?” cried Melissa, starting. 

“Aye, lady — and six men than three !” 

“There was such an one, Fool, in truth a very 
brave man, did fight three of my Lord Agramore’s 
foresters on my behalf. Dost know of such an one. 
Fool?” 

“Methinks he is my comrade, Lady.” 

“Thy comrade — in truth? Then, pray you, 
speak me what seeming hath he.” 

“Ill, lady.” 

“How so, Fool?” 

“A great, fierce rogue is he, unlovely of look, bleak 
of eye, harsh of tongue, hooked of nose, flinty of soul, 
stony of heart, of aspect grim and manners rude!” 

“Then, verily, thy comrade have I never seen!” 
quoth Melissa, flushing and with head up-flung. 
“He that saved me is nothing the like of this.” 

“And yet,” said Jocelyn slyly, “’tis thus he hath 
been named ere now !” 

“Nay, Fool, indeed he that saved me was tall 
and seemly man, very fierce and strong in fight, but 

HS 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

to me wondrous gentle — in truth, something timor¬ 
ous, and, ’spite rusty mail, spake and looked like 
a noble knight.” 

“Then forsooth, lady, thy champion is no com¬ 
rade of mine, for he is but a poor rogue, ill-beseen, 
ill-kempt, ill-spoken, ill-mannered and altogether ill, 
save only that he is my friend-” 

“And thou speakest ill of thy ill friend, the which 
is ill in thee — ill Fool!” and the fair Melissa rose. 

“And pray, lady, didst learn thy preserver’s 
name?” 

“Indeed, for I asked him.” 

“And it was-?” 

“Pertinax!” she sighed. 

“Pertinax!” said Jocelyn, both in the same 
moment; the dark-browed Melissa sat down again. 

“So thy comrade and — he are one, Fool?” 

“Indeed, lady. Yet here we have him, on the 
one hand, a man noble and seemly, and, on the other, 
a poor rogue, hook-nosed, ill-beseen, ill-” 

“’Tis thou hast miscalled him, Fool!” said she, 
frowning. 

“Not I, lady.” 

“Who, then?” 

“A maid -— 

“Ah!” said Melissa, frowning blacker than ever. 
“A maid, Fool? What maid?” 

“A wandering gipsy o’ the wood, lady — a dark¬ 
eyed damsel with long, black curling hair and ‘voice 
of sweet allure’ — ’tis so he named her-” 

“This was belike some wicked witch!” said 
Melissa, clenching white fist. 

“Aye, belike it was, lady, for she bestowed on 
him a strange jewel, a heart in heart of crystal, that 
wrought for us in Canalise marvels great as our 
wondrous Witch herself.” 

146 






The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Now here the lovely Melissa’s frown vanished, 
and her red lips curved to sudden smile. 

“Belike this was no witch after all!” said she 
gently. 

“Howbeit, lady,” quoth Jocelyn slyly, “my poor 
comrade is surely bewitched by her none the less. 
She hath wrought on him spell so potent that he 
groweth mopish and talketh of her eyes, her hair, 
her sweet and gentle voice, her little foot, forsooth.” 

“And doth he so, indeed?” said Melissa softly, 
and, twiddling one of her own pretty feet, she smiled 
at it. “ Doth he sigh o’er much ? ” she questioned. 

“Consumedly ! By the minute !” 

“ Poor soldier! ” she murmured. 

“Aye, poor rogue!” said Jocelyn; whereupon 
she frowned again, and turned her back upon him. 

“And he is thy comrade.” 

“Even so — poor knave !” 

“And destitute — even as thou?” 

“Aye, a sorry clapper-claw — even as I, lady.” 

“Then, pray thee, why doth he wear gold chain 
about his neck ? ” 

“Chain, lady--?” 

“Such as only knights do wear!” 

“Belike he stole it, lady-” 

“Aye — belike he did !” said she, rising; then she 
sighed and laughed, and so turned and left him. 

And in a while Jocelyn rose also, and went on 
beside the brook; but as he walked deep in thought, 
there met him Robin, he full of mirth and laughter. 

“Oho, brother, good brother!” cried he joyfully, 
clapping hand on Jocelyn’s broad shoulder, “come 
away, now, and see what the good wind hath blown 
hither — come thy ways and see !” 

So came they where rose a great tree of huge girth, 
whose gnarled branches spread far and wide, a very 

147 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

forest of leaves, beneath whose shade were many 
of the outlaws grouped about one who crouched 
miserably on his knees, his arms fast bound and a 
halter about his neck; and, as obedient to Robin’s 
words the fierce company fell back, Jocelyn saw 
this torn and pallid captive was none other than 
Ranulph the Hangman. 

“Woe’s me, my masters!” quoth he ’twixt 
chattering teeth. “ ’T is pity poor Ranulph must die 
before his time, for ne’er shall be found hangman, 
headsman or torturer the like o’ Ranulph — so 
dainty i’ the nice adjustment o’ noose! So clean 
and delicate wi’ the axe! So tender and thoughtful 
wi’ pincers, thumbscrew, rack or red-hot iron! A 
hangman so kindly o’ soul, so merry o’ heart, alack, 
so free, so gay, so merry — forsooth a very wanton, 
waggish, jovial bawcock-lad-” 

“Why, then, good, merry wag,” laughed Robin, 
“now shalt thou cut us an antic aloft in air, shalt 
caper and dance in noose to our joyance! Up with 
him, bully lads, and gently, that he may dance the 
longer!” 

But as Ranulph was dragged, shivering, to his 
feet, Jocelyn stepped forward. 

“Stay!” he cried. “Look, now, here’s hang¬ 
man did but hang since hang he must; must he 
hang therefore ? ” 

Robin : Aye, marry, since hanging shall his hang¬ 
ing end! 

Jocelyn : But if to hang his duty is, must he 
for duty hang ? Moreover, if ye hang this hangman, 
unhanged hangmen shall hang still, and since ye 
may not all hangmen hang, wherefore should this 
hangman hang ? 

Robin : Brother, an this hangman hang, fewer 
hangmen shall there be to hang, forsooth. 

148 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Jocelyn : Not so, Robin, for hangman dead be- 
getteth hangman new; this hangman hanged, hang¬ 
man in his place shall hang men after him. Shall 
this hangman hang for hanging as in duty bound, 
whiles other hangmen, unhanged, hang still? Here, 
methinks, is small wisdom, little reason, and less of 
justice, Robin. 

Robin : Beshrew me, brother — but here’s so 
much of hanging hanging on hanging plaguy hang¬ 
man that hang me if I get the hang on’t- 

Jocelyn: Plainly, Robin — wilt hang a man for 
doing his duty ? 

Robin : Plainly, brother — no. But- 

Jocelyn: Then canst not hang this hangman, 
since hanging his duty is- 

Robin : Yet’t is base, vile duty- 

Jocelyn : Yet duty it is — wherefore, an there 
be any justice in the good greenwood, this hangman 
unhanged must go. 

Now here Robin scowled, and his brawny fellows 
scowled likewise, and began to mutter and murmur 
against Jocelyn, who, leaning back to tree, strummed 
his lute and sang: 

“O, Life is sweet, but Life is fleet. 

O’er quick to go, alack! 

And once’t is spilt, try as thou wilt. 

Thou canst not call it back! 

“ So bethink thee, bold Robin, and, as thou ’rt 
king o’ the wild-wood, be thou just king and merci¬ 
ful -” 

“Now out upon thee, brother!” cried Robin, 
forgetting to scowl. “Out on thee with thy honied 
phrases, thy quipsome lilting rhymes! Here go I 
to do a thing I ha’ no lust to do — and all by reason 
149 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

o’ thee ! Off — off wi’ the halter, lads — loose the 
hangman-claws of him ! Hereafter, since he can pay 
no ransom, he shall be our serf; to have a hangman 
fetch and carry shall be rare, methinks !” 

Quoth Jocelyn : How much should hangman’s 
flesh be worth i’ the greenwood, Robin ? 

“Why, brother, ’tis poor, sad and dismal knave; 
five gold pieces shall buy him, aye — halter and all, 
and ’tis fair, good halter, look you!” 

“Why, then,” said Jocelyn, opening his wallet, 
“behold the monies, so do I buy him of thee-” 

“Now, by Saint Nick!” cried Robin, amazed. 
“Nay, brother, an thou ’It buy so sorry a thing, 
give thy money to the merry lads; I ’ll none on’t. 
And now,” said he, the money duly paid, “what wilt 
do wi’ thy hangman?” 

“Sir Fool,” cried Ranulph, falling on his knees 
at Jocelyn’s feet, “fain would I serve thee — e’en 
to the peril o’ the life thou hast saved. Bid me 
labour for thee and in labour shall be my joy, bid 
me fight for thee and I will fight whiles life is 
in me; bid me follow thee and I will follow even 
unto-” 

“Nay, hangman,” said Jocelyn, “I bid thee rise 
and sing for us, and so be gone wheresoever thou 
wilt.” 

Then Ranulph arose and glancing round upon the 
fierce company, from the noose at his feet to 
Jocelyn’s scarred face, he drew a great breath; 
quoth he: 

“Sir Fool, since ’tis thy will fain would I give 
thee song blithe and joyful since joy is in my heart, 
but alack, though my songs begin in merry vein 
they do grow mournful anon; howbeit, for thy joy 
now will I sing my cheeriest;” whereupon Ranulph 
brake into song thus : 

ISO 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“I am forsooth a merry soul, 

Hey derry down, ho ho! 

I love a merry song to troll, 

I love to quaff a cheery bowl, 

And yet thinks I, alas ! 

Such things too soon do pass, 

And proudest flesh is grass. 

Alack-a-day and woe, 

Alack it should be so ! 

“A goodly lover I might be. 

Merrily, ho ho! 

But pretty maids in terror flee, 

When this my hangman’s head they see. 

But woe it is, thinks I, 

All fair, sweet dames must die, 

And pale, sad corpses lie. 

Alack-a-day and woe, 

Alack it should be so ! 

“ Fairest beauty is but dust, 

Shining armour soon will rust, 

All good things soon perish must. 

Look around, thinks I, and see 
All that, one day, dead must be. 

King and slave and you and me. 

Alack-a-day and woe, 

Alack it must be so!” 

“Out!” cried Robin. “Here forsooth is dolorous 
doleful dirge — out on thee for sad and sorry 
snuffler!” 

“Aye, verily,” sighed Ranulph, “’tis my curse. 
I begin with laugh and end in groan. I did mean 
this for merry song, yet it turned of itself sad song 
despite poor I, and there’s the pity on’t-” 

151 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Enough!” growled Robin, “away with him. 
Brand, do you hoodwink him in his ’kerchief and 
give him safe conduct to beyond the ford, and so 
set Master Hangman Grimglum-grief on his road 

_ >> 

“Sir Fool,” cried Ranulph, “God den t’ye and 
gramercy. Should it be e’er thy fate to die o’ the 
gallows, may I have thy despatching — I will con¬ 
trive it so sweetly shalt know nought of it — oho! 
’t would be my joy.” 

“Off!” cried Robin. “Off, thou pestiferous 
fungus lest I tread on thee — hence, away !” 

So the outlaws blindfolded Ranulph and led him 
off at speed. 

“Away,” quoth Jocelyn, nodding, “so now in 
faith must I, Robin-” 

“What, is’t indeed farewell, brother?” 

“Aye, Robin.” 

“Why, then, what may I give thee in way o’ love 
and friendship ? ” 

“Thy hand.” 

“Behold it, brother! And what beside? Here 
is purse o’ good pieces — ha ? ” 

“Nay, Robin, prithee keep them for those whose 
need is greater.” 

“ Can I nought bestow — dost lack for nothing, 
brother ? ” 

“What thou, methinks, may not supply-” 

“And that?” 

“Horse and armour!” Now at this, Robin 
laughed and clapped hand to thigh; quoth he: 

“Come with Robin, brother!” So he brought 
Jocelyn into a cave beneath the steep and, lighting 
a torch from fire that burned there, led him on 
through other caves and winding passages rough- 
hewn in the rock, and so at last to a vasty cavern. 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And here was great store of merchandise of every 
sort,—velvets, silks, and rich carpets from the Orient; 
vases of gold and silver, and coffers strong-clamped 
with many iron bands. And here also, hanging 
against the rocky walls, were many and divers suits 
of armour with helms and shields set up in gallant 
array; beholding all of which Jocelyn paused to eye 
merry Robin askance; quoth he soberly : 

“Sir Rogue, how came ye by all this goodly 
furniture ? ” 

“By purest chance, brother,” laughed Robin, “for 
hark ’ee — 

“ Chance is a wind to outlaws kind. 

And many fair things blows us, 

It — merchants, priors, lords, knights and squires. 
And like good things bestows us-” 

“Aye,” said Jocelyn, “but what of all those 
knights and squires whose armour hangeth here?” 

“Here or there, brother, they come and they go. 
Ha, yonder soundeth Ralfwyn’s horn — three blasts 
which do signify some right fair windfall. Come, 
let us see what this jolly wind hath blown us this 
time!” So saying, Robin laughed and led the way 
out into the sunny green. And here, surrounded 
by a ring of merry forest rogues, they beheld a 
knight right gallantly mounted and equipped, his 
armour blazing in the sun, his gaudy bannerole a- 
flutter from long lance, his shield gaudy and brave 
with new paint; beholding which, Robin chuckled 
gleefully; quoth he : 

“Oho ! On a field vert three falcons gules, proper, 
charged with heart ensanguined — aha, here ’s good 
booty, methinks! ” 

Now, as this splendid knight rode nearer, con- 

153 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

temptuous of his brawny captors, Robin stared to see 
that on his helmet he wore a wreath of flowers, while 
lance and sword, mace and battle-axe were wreathed 
in blooming roses. 

“Ho, Jenkyn, Cuthbert!” cried Robin, “what 
Sir Daintiness have ye here ? ” But ere his grinning 
captors could make reply, the knight himself spake 
thus: 

“Behold a very gentle knight, 

Sir Palamon of Tong, 

A gentle knight in sorry plight, 

That loveth love and hateth fight, 

A knight than fight had rather write. 

And strophes to fair dames indite, 

Or sing a sighful song. 

“ By divers braggarts I’m abused, 

’T is so as I ’ve heard tell, 

Because, since I’m to fight unused, 

I many a fight have bold refused, 

And, thereby, saved my bones unbruised, 
Which pleaseth me right well. 

“No joy have I in steed that prances. 

True gentle man am I 
To tread to lutes slow, stately dances. 

’Stead of your brutish swords and lances, 

I love love’s lureful looks and glances, 

When hand to hand, unseen, advances, 

And eye caresseth eye.” 

“And how a plague, Sir Gentleness,” questioned 
Robin, “may eye caress eye?” 

“E’en as lips voiceless may wooing speak, Sir 
Roguery, and tongue unwagging tell tales o’ love, 
Sir Ferocity.” 

154 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Robin : Then had I the trick o’ voiceless speech, 
now would I, with silly tongue, tell thee thou art 
our prisoner to ransom, Sir Silken Softness. 

Sir Palamon: And I joy therefore, Sir Forest 
Fiend. 

Robin : And wherefore therefore ? 

Sir Palamon : For that therefore I need not to 
the joust, to that bone-shattering sport of boastful, 
brutal braggadocios, but here, lapped soft in the 
gentle green, woo the fair Yolande- 

Jocelyn : How, knight, the fair lady Yolande, 
say’st thou ? 

Sir Palamon : Even she. 

Jocelyn : But here she is not and thou art, how 
then may one that is, woo one is not ? 

Sir Palamon : Gross mountebank, by thought — 
I woo in thought, breathe my thought upon the 
balmy air and air beareth it to her feet. 

Robin : And she treadeth on’t, so there’s an end 
o’ thy love! But pray you, Sir Downy Daintiness, 
how come ye that are so gentle so ungently dight? 
Discourse, Sir Dove! 

Sir Palamon : In two words then, thou lewd 
lurcher o’ the thickets; I ride thus in steely panoply 
— the which doth irk me sore — by reason of the 
tongue of my mother (good soul!) the which doth 
irk me more. For she (worthy lady!) full-fed o’ 
fatuous fantasies and fables fond, fuddled i’ faith 
o’ faddling fictions as — gestes of jongleurs, tales 
told by tramping troubadours, ballades of babbling 
braggarts, romances of roysterous rhymers, she 
(good gossip!) as I say, having hearkened to and 
perused the works of such-like pelting, paltry prosers 
and poets wherein sweep of sword and lunge o’ lance 
is accompted of worthier repute than the penning of 
dainty distich and pretty poesies pleasingly passion- 

155 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

ate. She, I say — my mother (God rest her !), e’en 
she with tongue most harsh, most bitter and most 
unwearying, hath enforced me, her son (whom 
Venus bless!) — e’en I that am soul most tran¬ 
scendental — I that am a very wing-ed Mercury — 
me, I say she hath, by torrential tongueful tumult 
(gentle lady!), constrained to don the habit of a 
base, brawling, beefy and most material Mars! 
Wherefore at my mother’s behest (gracious dame!) 
I ride nothing joyful to be bruised and battered by 
any base, brutal braggart that hath the mind to 
try a tilt with me. Moreover- 

Robin : Hold ! Take breath, gentle sir, for thine 
own sweet sake draw thy wind. 

Sir Palamon : ’T is done, fellow, ’t is done ! And 
now in three words will I- 

Robin : Cry ye mercy, sir, thy two words do yet 
halloo “Buzz-buzz” in mine ears. 

Sir Palamon : Faith, robber-rogue, since I a 
tongue possess- 

Robin : Therein thou art very son o’ thy mother 
(whom St. Anthony cherish !). 

Sir Palamon : With this rare difference, outlaw 
— for whereas her tongue (honoured relict!) is 
tipped with gall, wormwood, henbane, hemlock, 
bitter-aloes and verjuice, and stingeth like the adder, 
the asp, the toad, the newt, the wasp, and snaky- 
haired head of Medusa, mine- 

Robin : Buzzeth, buzz, O buzz ! 

Sir Palamon : Mine, thou paltry knave, I say 
mine- 

Robin : Buzz —ha — buzz ! 

Jocelyn : I pray you, Sir Knight, doth the Red 
Gui tilt at to-morrow’s joust? 

Sir Palamon : Base mime, he doth! My Lord 
Gui of Ells, Lord Seneschal of Raddemore, is my 







The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

friend, a very mirror of knightly prowess, the sure 
might of whose lance none may abide. He is, in 
very truth, the doughtiest champion in all this fair 
country, matchless at any and every weapon, a- 
horse or a-foot, in sooth a very Ajax, Achilles, Hector, 
Roland and Oliver together and at once, one and 
indivisible, aye — by Cupid a very paladin ! “ ’T is 

so I’ve heard,” said Jocelyn thoughtfully. 

Sir Palamon : Two knights only there are might 
cope with him, and one Sir Agramore and one 
Jocelyn of the Helm, Duke of Brocelaunde. The 
fame of which last rumour hath so puffed up that 
thrice my Lord Gui hath sent his cartel of defiance, 
but the said Duke, intent on paltry battles beyond his 
marches, hath thrice refused, and wisely—so’t is said. 

“Aye me, messire,” quoth Jocelyn, strumming 
his lute, “and so bloweth the wind. Yet mayhap 
these twain shall meet one day.” 

Robin : And heaven send me there to see! Now 
as to thee. Sir Softly Sweet, fair Lord of Tong, thy 
goodly horse and armour are mine henceforth, first 
because thy need of them is nothing, secondly be¬ 
cause thou art my prisoner- 

Sir Palamon : And thirdly, Sir Riotous Rough¬ 
ness, I do freely on thee bestow them, hide and hair, 
bolt and rivet. 

Robin : Now as to thy ransom. Sir Mildly-Meek, 
at what price dost rate thy value, spiritual and 
corporeal ? 

Sir Palamon: Fellow, though youthful, well- 
favoured and poet esteemed, I am yet marvellous 
modest! ’T is true I am knight of lineage lofty, of 
patrimony proud, of manors many- 

Robin : Even as of thy words, Sir Emptiness. 

Sir Palamon : ’Tis also true, thou ignorant atomy, 
I, like Demosthenes, am blessed with a wonder o’ 

157 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

words and glory o’ sweet phrase, and yet, and here’s 
the enduring wonder — I am still but man, though 
man blessed with so much profundity, fecundity, 
and redundity of thought and expression, and there¬ 
fore a facile scribe or speaker, able to create, relate, 
formulate or postulate any truth, axiomatic, sophistry 

subtle, or, in other words, I can narrate- 

Robin : Verily Sir Windbag thou dost, to narrate, 
thyself with wind inflate, and, being thus thyself 
inflate of air, thou dost thyself deflate of airy sounds 
which be words o’ wind, and windy words is empti¬ 
ness — thus by thy inflatings and deflatings cometh 
nought but wind bred o’ wind, and nought is nothing, 
so nought is thy relation or narration; whereof 
make now a cessation, so will I, in due form, formu¬ 
late, postulate and deliberate. Thus, with my 
good rogues’ approbation and acclamation, I will 
of thy just valuation make tabulation, and give 
demonstration in relation to thy liberation from 
this thy situation, as namely, viz. and to-wit: 
First thou art a poet; in this is thy marketable value 
to us nought, for poets do go empty of aught but 
thought of sort when wrought, unbought; thus go 
they short which doth import they ’re empty, purse 
and belly. Second, upon thy testimony thou ’rt 
a man. Go to! Here we be out again, for on the 
score of manliness thou art not. Yet thou art flesh 
and blood — good ! for here we deal in such. Not 
that we yearn for thy flesh and blood, but, being 
thine, they are to thee dear, perchance, and thou 
would’st fain keep them alive a little longer; where¬ 
fore thou shalt for thy loved flesh and blood pay — 
purchasing the same of us. And, as flesh varies, 
so do our prices vary; we do sell a man his own 
flesh and blood at certain rateable values. Thus 
unto a hangman we did of late sell a hangman, in 

158 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

fair good halter, and he a hangman brawny, for no 
more than five gold pieces, the which was cheap, 
methinks, considering the goodly halter, and he a 
lusty, manly rogue to boot. Now as for thee, thou ’rt 
soft and of a manlihood indifferent, so would I rate 
thee at one gold piece. 

Sir Palamon : Ignorant grub! Am I less than 
base hangman — I, a knight- 

Robin : True, Sir Knight, thou ’rt a knight for 
no reason but that thou art knight born and thus, 
by nought but being born, hath won to thyself 
nobility, riches and honours such as no man may 
win either by courage, skill, or learning, since high¬ 
born fool and noble rogue do rank high ’bove such. 
So thou art knight, Sir Knight, and for thy knight¬ 
hood, thy lineage lofty, thy manors many, mulcted 
thou shalt be in noble fashion. For thy manhood 
I assess thee at one gold piece, but, since thou ’rt 
son o’ thy dam (whom the Saints pity!) we do fine 
thee five thousand gold pieces — thy body ours 
until the purchase made. Away with him, lads; 
cherish him kindly, unarm him gently, and set 
him a-grinding corn till his ransom be paid — 
away! 

Now here was mighty roar of laughter and acclaim 
from all who heard, only Sir Palamon scowled, and, 
for once mute and tongue-tied, was led incontinent 
away to his labours. 

“And now, brother,” quoth Robin, turning where 
Jocelyn stood smiling and merry-eyed, “what o’ 
this armour dost seek, and wherefore?” 

“Art a lovely robber, Robin,” said he; “a very 
various rogue, yet no rogue born, methinks!” 

“I was not always outlaw, brother — howbeit, 
what would a Fool with horse and knightly arms ?” 

Now Jocelyn, bending close, whispered somewhat 

159 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

in Robin’s ear, whereon he clapped hand to thigh, 
and laughed and laughed until the air rang again. 

“Oho, a jape — a jape indeed!” he roared. “O 
lovely brother, to see proud knight unhorsed by 
prancing motley Fool! Hey, how my heart doth 
jump for gladness! An thou wilt a-tilting ride, I 
will squire thee — a Fool of a knight tended by 
Rogue of a squire. O, rare — aha ! oho ! Come 
thy ways, sweet brother, and let us set about this 
joyous jape forthwith!” 

And thus it was that, as evening fell, there rode, 
through bowery bracken and grassy glade, two horse¬ 
men full blithe and merry, and the setting sun flashed 
back in glory from their glittering armour. 


160 


FYTTE 10 


How Red Gui sore smitten was in fight 
By motley Fool in borrowed armour dight. 


Now shrill tucket and clarion, trumpet and horn 
With their cheery summons saluted the morn, 

Where the sun, in his splendour but newly put on, 
Still more splendid made pennon and brave gon¬ 
falon 

That with banners and pennoncelles fluttered and 
flew 

High o’er tent and pavilion of every hue. 

For the lists were placed here, for the tournament 
set, 

Where already a bustling concourse was met; 

Here were poor folk and rich folk, lord, lady and 
squire, 

Clad in leather, in cloth and in silken attire; 

Here folk pushed and folk jostled, as people still do 
When the sitters be many, the seats scant and few; 
Here was babble of voices and merry uproar, 

For while some folk laughed loud, some lost tempers 
and swore. 

Until on a sudden this tumult and riot 

Was hushed to a murmur that sank into quiet 

As forth into the lists, stern of air, grave of face, 

Five fine heralds, with tabard and trumpet, did 
pace 

With their Lion-at-arms, or Chief Herald, before; - 
And a look most portentous this Chief Herald wore, 
161 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And, though portly his shape and a little too round, 
Sure a haughtier Chief Herald could nowhere be 
found. 

So aloof was his look and so grave his demeanour, 
Humble folk grew abashed, and mean folk felt the 
meaner; 

When once more the loud clarions had all echoes 
woke 

This Chief Herald in voice deep and sonorous spoke: 

“Good people all. 

Both great and small, 

Oyez! 

Ye noble dames of high degree 
Your pretty ears now lend to me, 

And much I will declare to ye. 

Oyez! Oyez! 

Ye dainty lords of might and fame, 

Ye potent gentles, do the same. 

Ye puissant peers of noble name, 

Now unto ye I do proclaim: 

Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” 

Here pealed the trumpets, ringing loud and clear, 
That deafened folk who chanced to stand too near. 
In special one — a bent and hag-like dame, 

Who bent o’er crooked staff as she were lame; 

Her long, sharp nose — but no, her nose none saw, 
Since it was hidden ’neath the hood she wore 
But from this hood she watched with glittering eye 
Four lusty men-at-arms who lolled hard by, 

Who, ’bove their armour, bore on back and breast 
A bloody hand — Lord Gui’s well-hated crest, 

And who, unwitting of the hooded hag, 

On sundry matters let their lewd tongues wag: 

The First Soldier : Why, she scorned him, 
’t is well beknown ! 


162 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

The Second Soldier : Aye, and it doth not do 
to scorn the Red Gui, look ’ee! 

The Third Soldier : She ’ll lie snug in his arms 
yet, her pride humbled, her proud spirit broke, 
I ’ll warrant me ! 

The Fourth Soldier : She rideth hence in her 
litter, d’ ye see; and with but scant few light-armed 
knaves attendant. 

The First Soldier : Aye, and our signal my 
lord’s hunting-horn thrice winded- 

Thus did they talk, with laughter loud and deep, 
While nearer yet the hooded hag did creep; 

But: — 

Now blew the brazen clarions might and main, 
Which done, the portly Herald spake again: 

“Good people, all ye lords and ladies fair, 

Oyez! 

Now unto ye forthwith I do declare 

The charms of two fair dames beyond compare. 

Oyez ! Oyez ! Oyez ! 

The first, our Duchess — Benedicta hight, 

That late from Tissingors, her town, took flight, 
To-day, returning here, doth bless our sight, 

And view the prowess of each valiant knight; 
Each champ-i-on, in shining armour dight, 

With blunted weapons gallantly shall fight. 

And, watched by eyes of ladies beamy-bright, 
Inspired and strengthened by this sweet eye-light, 
Shall quit themselves with very main and might; 
The second : — in her beauty Beauty’s peer, 
Yolande the Fair, unto our Duchess dear, 

For whose sweet charms hath splintered many a spear, 
Throned with our lovely Duchess, sitteth here 
With her bright charms all gallant hearts to cheer. 
163 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Now, ye brave knights, that nought but Cupid 
fear. 

To these sweet dames give eye, to me give ear! 

Oyez! 

’T is now declared-” 

My daughter Gillian expostulateth : 

Gill : O, father, now 

You must allow 

That your herald is rather a bore. 

He talks such a lot, 

And it seems frightful rot- 

Myself : I hate slang, miss ! I told you before ! 

If my herald says much, 

Yet he only says such 

As by heralds was said in those days; 

Though their trumpets they blew, 

It is none the less true 

That they blew them in other folks’ praise. 
If my herald verbose is 
And gives us large doses 
Of high-sounding rodomontade. 

You ’ll find they spoke so 
In the long, long ago. 

So blame not — O, blame not the bard. 

But while we are prating 
Our herald stands waiting 
In a perfectly terrible fume, 

So, my dear, here and now, 

The poor chap we ’ll allow 

His long-winded speech to resume: 

“ ’T is here declared by order of the Ten, 

Fair Benedicta’s guardians — worthy men ! 

Thus they decree — ye lovers all rejoice ! 

She shall by their command, this day make choice 
Of him — O, him ! O blest, thrice blessed he 
Who must anon her lord and husband be. 

164 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

T is so pronounced by her grave guardians ten. 

By them made law — and they right reverend men ! 
And this the law — our lady, be it said, 

This day shall choose the husband she must wed; 
And he who wins our Duchess for his own 
Crowned by her love shall mount to ducal throne. 
So let each knight, by valiant prowess, prove 
Himself most worthy to our lady’s love. 

Now make I here an end, and ending, pray 
Ye quit you all like val’rous knights this day.” 

Thus spake the Chief Herald and so paced sol¬ 
emnly down the lists while the long clarions filled 
the air with gallant music. But the lovely Bene- 
dicta, throned beneath silken canopy, knit her 
black brows and clenched slender hands and stamped 
dainty foot, yet laughed thereafter, whereupon 
Yolande, leaning to kiss her flushed cheek, ques¬ 
tioned her, wondering: 

“How say’st thou to this, my loved Benedicta?” 

Quoth the Duchess : 

“I say, my sweeting, ’t is quite plain 
That I must run away again ! 

Howbeit I care not one rush for their laws! 
Marry forsooth — a fig! Let them make laws 
an they will, these reverend, right troublesome 
grey-beards of mine, they shall never wed me but 
to such a man as Love shall choose me, and loving 
him — him only will I wed, be he great or lowly, 
rich or poor, worthy or unworthy, so I do love him, 
as is the sweet and wondrous way of love.” 

“Ah, Benedicta! what is love?” 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“A joy that cometh but of itself, all unsought! 
This wisdom had I of a Fool i’ the forest. Go learn 
you of this same Fool and sigh not, dear wench.” 

“Nay, but,” sighed Yolande, lovely cheeks a- 
flush, “what of Sir Agramore— hath he not sworn 
to wed thee?” 

“I do fear Sir Agramore no longer, Yolande, 
since I have found me one may cope with him 
perchance — even as did a Fool with my Lord 
Gui of Ells upon a time. Art sighing again, sweet 
maid?” 

“Nay, indeed — and wherefore should I sigh?” 

“At mention of a Fool, belike.” 

“Ah, no, no, *t were shame in me, Benedicta! 
A Fool forsooth!” 

“Yet Fool of all fools singular, Yolande. And 
for all his motley a very man, methinks, and of a 
proud, high bearing.” 

Here Yolande’s soft cheek grew rosy again: 

“Yet is he but motley Fool — and his face — 
marred hatefully-” 

“Hast seen him smile, Yolande, for then — 
how, dost sigh again, my sweet?” 

“Nay, indeed; but talk we of other matters 

— thy so sudden flight — tell me all that chanced 
thee, dearest Benedicta.” 

“Why first — in thine ear, Yolande — my jewel 
is not — see !” 

“How — how, alas! O most sweet lady — hast 
lost it? Thy royal amulet?” 

“Bestowed it, Yolande.” 

“ Benedicta ! On whom ? ” 

“A poor soldier. One that saved me i’ the 
forest from many of Sir Agramore’s verderers 

— a man very tall and strong and brave, but dight 

in ragged cloak and rusty mail-” 

166 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

‘‘ Ragged ? A thief- * 9 

“Mayhap!” 

“An outlaw- 99 

“Mayhap!” 

“A wolf’s-head — a wild man and fierce.” 

“True he is very wild and very fierce, but very, 
very gentle-” 

“And didst give to such thy jewel ? 0 Benedicta! 

The Heart-in-heart?” 

“Freely — gladly! He begged it of me very 

humbly and all unknowing what it signified-” 

“0 my loved Benedicta, alas !” 

“0 my sweet Yolande, joy !” 

“But if he should claim thee, and he so poor and 

wild and ragged-” 

“If he should, Yolande, if he should- 

‘He that taketh Heart-in-heart, 

Taketh all and every part.’ 

0, if he should, Yolande, then I — must fulfil 
the prophecy. Nay, dear my friend, stare not so 
great and sadly-eyed, he knoweth not the virtue 
of the jewel nor have I seen him these many days.” 
“And must thou sigh therefore, Benedicta?” 
But now the trumpets blew a fanfare, and forth 
rode divers gallant knights, who, spurring rearing 
steeds, charged amain to gore, to smite and batter each 
other with right good will while the concourse shouted, 
caps waved and scarves and ribands fluttered. 

But here, methinks, it booteth not to tell 
Of every fierce encounter that befell; 

How knight ’gainst knight drove fierce with point¬ 
less spear 

And met with shock that echoed far and near; 

167 





The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Or how, though they with blunted swords did 
smite, 

Sore battered was full many a luckless wight. 

But as the day advanced and sun rose high 
Full often rose the shout: “A Gui — A Gui!” 

For many a proud (though bruised and breath¬ 
less) lord, 

Red Gui’s tough lance smote reeling on the sward; 
And ever as these plaudits shook the air, 

Through vizored casque at Yolande he would stare. 

And beholding all the beauty of her he smiled 
evilly and muttered to himself, glancing from her 
to certain lusty men-at-arms who, lolling ’gainst 
the barriers, bore at back and breast his badge of 
the bloody hand. 

But the fair Yolande heeded him none at all, 
sitting with eyes a-dream and sighing ever and anon; 
insomuch that the Duchess, watching her slyly, 
sighed amain also and presently spake: 

“Indeed, and O verily, Yolande, meseemeth 
we do sigh and for ever sigh, thou and I, like two 
poor, love-sick maids. How think’st thou?” 

“Nay, O Benedicta, hearken! See, who rideth 
yonder?” 

Now even as thus fair Yolanda spoke, 

A horn’s shrill note on all men’s hearing broke, 

And all eyes turned where rode a gallant knight. 

In burnished armour sumptuously bedight. 

His scarlet plumes ’bove gleaming helm a-dance, 

His bannerole a-flutter from long lance, 

His gaudy shield with new-popped blazon glowed: 
Three stooping falcons that on field vert showed; 
But close-shut vizor hid from all his face 
As thus he rode at easy, ambling pace. 

168 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Now as I live!” cried Benedicta. “By his 
device yon should be that foolish knight Sir *Pala- 
mon of Tong!” 

“Aye, truly!” sighed Yolande. “Though he 
wear no motley hither rideth indeed a very fool. 
And look, Benedicta — look! O, sure never rode 
knight in like array — see how the very populace 
groweth dumb in its amaze!” 

For now the crowd in wonderment grew mute, 

To see this knight before him bare a lute, 

While blooming roses his great helmet crowned, 

They wreathed his sword, his mighty lance around. 
Thus decked rode he in rosy pageantry, 

And up the lists he ambled leisurely; 

Till, all at once, from the astonied crowd 
There brake a hum that swelled to laughter loud; 
But on he rode, nor seemed to reck or heed, 

Till ’neath the balcony he checked his steed. 

Then, handing lance unto his tall esquire, 

He sudden struck sweet chord upon his lyre, 

And thus, serene, his lute he plucked until 
The laughter died and all stood hushed and still; 
Then, hollow in his helm, a clear voice rang, 

As, through his lowered vizor, thus he sang: 

“A gentle knight behold in me, 

(Unless my blazon lie !) 

For on my shield behold and see. 

Upon field vert, gules falcons three, 
Surcharged with heart ensanguiney, 

To prove to one and all of ye, 

A love-lorn knight am I.” 

But now cometh (and almost in haste) the haughty 
and right dignified Chief Herald with pursuivants 
169 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

attendant, which latter having trumpeted amain, 
the Herald challenged thus: 

“Messire, by the device upon thy shield, 

We know my Lord of Tong is in the field; 

But pray thee now declare, pronounce, expound, 

Why thus ye ride with foolish roses crowned ? 5 

Whereto the Knight maketh answer forthwith: 

“If foolish be these flowers I bear, 

Then fool am I, I trow. 

Yet, in my folly, fool doth swear. 

These flowers to fool an emblem rare 
Of one, to fool, more sweet, more fair, 

E’en she that is beyond compare, 

A flower perchance for fool to wear. 

Who shall his foolish love declare 
Till she, mayhap, fool’s life may share, 

Nor shall this fool of love despair, 

Till foolish life shall go. 

“For life were empty, life were vain, 

If true love come not nigh, 

Though honours, fortune, all I gain, 

Yet poorer I than poor remain. 

If true-love from me fly; 

So here I pray, 

If that thou may. 

Ah — never pass me by !” 

Here the Chief Herald frowned, puffing his cheeks, 
and waved his ebony staff authoritatively. 

Quoth he: “Enough, Sir Knight! Here is no 
place for love! For inasmuch as we-” 

The Knight : Gentle Herald, I being here, here 
170 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

is Love, since I am lover, therefore love-full, thus 

where I go goeth Love- 

The Herald : Apprehend me, Sir Knight! For 

whereas love hath no part in- 

The Knight : Noble Herald, Love hath every 
part within me and without, thus I, from Love 
apart, have no part, and my love no part apart 
from my every part; wherefore, for my part, and 
on my part, ne’er will I with Love part for thy part 

and this to thee do I impart- 

“Sweet Saints aid us !” The Chief Herald clasped 
his massy brow and gazed with eye distraught. 
“Sir Knight — messire — my very good and noble 
Lord of Tong — I grope ! Here is that which hath 
a seeming . . . thy so many parts portend some¬ 
what . . . and yet ... I excogitate . . . yet grope 
I still . . . impart, part . . . thy part and its part 
... so many parts . . . and roses . . . and songs 
o’ love ... a lute! O, thundering Mars, I . . . 
Sound, trumpets! ” 

But the Duchess up-starting, silenced Herald 
and trumpeters with imperious hand. 

“Sir Knight of Tong,” said she, “’t is told thou ’rt 
of nimble tongue and a maker of songs, so we bid 
thee sing if thy song be of Love — for Love is a 
thing little known and seldom understood these 
days. Here be very many noble knights wondrous 
learned in the smiting of buffets, but little else; 
here be noble dames very apt at the play of eyes, 
the twining of fingers, the languishment of sighs, that, 
seeking True-love, find but its shadow; and here 
also grey beards that have forgot the very name of 
Love. So we bid thee sing us of Love — True-love, 
what it is. Our ears attend thee!” 

“Gracious lady,” answered the Knight, “gladly 
do I obey. But Love is mighty and I lowly, and 
171 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

may speak of Love but from mine own humility. 
And though much might be said of Love since Love’s 
empire is the universe and Love immortal, yet will 
I strive to portray this mighty thing that is True- 
love in few, poor words.” 

Then, plucking sweet melody from his lute, 
the Knight sang as here followeth : 

■‘What is Love? ’Tis this, I say, 

Flower that springeth in a day 
Ne’er to die or fade away 
Since True-love dieth never. 

“ Though youth, alas! too soon shall wane. 
Though friend prove false and effort vain. 
True-love all changeless doth remain 
The same to-day and ever.” 

Now while the clarions rang out proclaiming Sir 
Palamon’s defiance, Benedicta looked on Yolande 
and Yolande on Benedicta: 

“O, wonderful!” cried the Duchess. “My Lord 
of Tong hath found him manhood and therewith 
a wisdom beyond most and singeth such love as 
methought only angels knew and maids might 
vision in their dreams. Ah, Yolande — that such 
a love could be . . . e’en though he went ragged 
and poor in all but love ...” 

“Benedicta,” sighed Yolande, hands clasped on 
swelling bosom, “O Benedicta, here is no foolish 
Lord of Tong . . . and yet . . . O, I am mad!” 

“Why, then, ’tis sweet madness! So, my Yo¬ 
lande, let us be mad awhile together . . . thou — 
a Fool . . . and I — a beggar-rogue! ” 

“Nay — alas, dear Benedicta! This were 

shame-” 


172 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“And forsooth is it shame doth swell thy heart, 
Yolande, light the glamour in thine eyes and set 
thee a-tremble — e'en as I ? Nay indeed, thou 'rt 
a-thrill with Folly . . . and I, with Roguery. 
Loved Folly! Sweet Roguery! O Yolande, let us 
fly from empty state, from this mockery of life and 
learn the sweet joys of . . . of beggary, and, crowned 
with poverty, clasp life-'' 


Myself, myself interrupting: 

By the way, my dear, you 'll understand. 
Though this is very fine. 

Still, her Grace’s counsel to Yolande 
Must not be in your line! 

Not that I’d have you wed for wealth, 

Or marry a beggar-man by stealth, 

But I would have you, if you can- 

Gill : Marry some strong, stern, silent man, 

Named Mark, and with hair slightly gray 
by the ears! 

Now he’s just the sort who would bore me 
to tears. 

If I for a husband feel ever inclined, 

I shall choose quite an ordin’ry husband — 
the kind 

With plenty of money and nothing to do, 
With a nice, comfy house, and a motor or 
two- 

Myself : That’s all very fine, miss, but what would 
you do 

If he, by some ill-chance, quite penniless 
grew ? 

Gill : Oh, why then — why, of course, 

I should get a divorce- 

Myself : A divorce ? Gracious heaven! For good¬ 
ness’ sake- 

Gill : ’T would be the most dignified action to take ! 

173 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Myself : Pray, what in the world of such things do 
you know ? 

Gill : Well, father, like you — each day older I 

grow. 

But, instead of discussing poor me, 

I think you would much nicer be 
To get on with our Geste. 

Myself : I obey your behest! 

Said Yolande to the duchess, said she: 

“Nay, my Benedicta, these be only dreams, but 
life is real and dreams a very emptiness !” 

“And is’t so, forsooth?” exclaimed the Duchess. 
“Then am I nought but a duchess and lonely, thou 
a maid fearful of her own heart, and yon singer of 
love only a very futile knight, Sir Palamon of Tong, 
nothing esteemed by thee for wit or valour and little 
by his peers — see how his challengers do throng. 
How think you?” But the lady Yolande sat very 
still and silent, only she stared, great-eyed, where 
danced the scarlet plume. 

And indeed many and divers were the knights who, 
beholding the blazon of Tong, sent the bearer their 
defiance, eager to cope with him; and each and 
every challenge Sir Palamon accepted by mouth of 
his tall esquire who (vizor closed, even as his lord’s) 
spake the Chief Herald in loud, merry voice, thus: 

“Sir Herald, whereas and forinasmuch as this, 
my Lord of Tong himself, himself declaring fool, is 
so himself-like as to meet in combat each and every 
of his challengers — themselves ten, my lord that 
is fool, himself himself so declaring, now declareth 
by me that am no fool but only humble esquire — 
messire, I say, doth his esquire require that I, the 
said esquire, should on his part impart as followeth, 
namely and to wit: That these ten gentle knights, 
the said challengers, shall forthwith of themselves 
174 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

choose of themselves, themselves among themselves 
thereto agreeing, which of themselves, among them¬ 
selves of themselves so chosen, shall first in combat 
adventure himself against my Lord of Tong himself. 
And moreover, should Fortune my lord bless with 
victory, the nine remaining shall among themselves 
choose, themselves agreeing, which of themselves 
shall next, thus chosen of themselves, themselves 
represent in single combat with this very noble, 
fool-like Lord of Tong, my master. Furthermore, 
whereas and notwithstanding-” 

“Hold, sir!” cried the Chief Herald, fingering 
harassed brow. “Pray thee ’bate — O, abate thy 
speechful fervour. Here forsooth and of truth is 
notable saying — O, most infallibly — and yet per¬ 
chance something discursive and mayhap a little 
involved.” 

“Nay, Sir Herald,” quoth the esquire, “if in¬ 
volved ’t will be resolved if revolved, thus : Here be 
ten lords would fight one, and one — that is my 
lord who is but one — ten fight one by one. But 
that ten, fighting one, may as one fight, let it be 
agreed that of these ten one be chosen one to fight, 
so shall one fight one and every one be satisfied — 
every one of these ten fighting one, one by one. 
Thus shall ten be one, and one ten fight one by one 
till one be discomfited. Shall we accord the matter 
simply, thus?” 

“Sir,” quoth the Chief Herald, gasping a little, 
“Amen!” 

“O!” cried the Duchess, clapping her hands, 
“O Yolande, hark to this rare esquire! Surely, I 
have heard yon cunning tongue ere this ?” 

But Yolande gazed ever where Sir Palamon, hav¬ 
ing taken his station, set himself in array. For now, 
the ten knights having chosen one to represent them, 

1 75 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

forth rode their champion resplendent in shining 
mail and green surcoat with heralds before to pro¬ 
claim his name and rank. 

“Yolande,” quoth the Duchess softly, “pray — 
pray this Lord of Tong may tilt as bravely as he 
doth sing, for Sir Thomas of Thornydyke is a notable 
jouster.” 

The trumpets blew a fanfare and, levelling their 
pointless lances, both knights gave spur, their great 
horses reared, broke into a gallop and thundered 
towards each other. 

But hard midway upon the green surcoat. 

Sir Palamon’s stout lance so truly smote, 

That, ’neath the shock, the bold Sir Thomas reeled 
And, losing stirrups, saddle, lance and shield, 

Down, down upon the ling outstretched he fell 
And, losing all, lost breath and speech as well. 

Thus, silent all, the bold Sir Thomas lay, 

Though much, and many things, he yearned to 
say, ... 

Which things his squires and pages might surmise 
From the expression of his fish-like eyes 
E’en as they bore him from that doleful place; 
While, near and far, from all the populace, 

Rose shout on shout that echoed loud and long: 

“Sir Palamon ! Sir Palamon of Tong !” 

So came these ten good knights, but, one by one, 
They fell before this bold Sir Palamon, 

Whose lance unerring smote now helm, now shield, 
That many an one lay rolling on the field. 

But each and all themselves did vanquished yield; 
And loud and louder did the plaudits grow, 

That one knight should so many overthrow. 

Even Sir Gui, within his silken tent 
Scowled black in ever-growing wonderment. 

176 


( 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

But the Knight of Tong, his gaudy shield a little 
battered, his fine surcoat frayed and torn, leaped 
from his wearied steed and forthwith mounted one 
held by his tall esquire, a mighty charger that tossed 
proud head and champed his bit, pawing impatient 
hoof. 

“Aha!” quoth the esquire, pointing to ten fair 
steeds held by ten fair pages. “Oho, good brother, 
most puissant Knight of Tong, here is good and rich 
booty — let us begone! ” 

“Nay,” answered the Knight, tossing aside his 
blunt tilting-spear, “here is an end to sportful 
dalliance — reach me my lance ! ” 

“Ha, is’t now the Red Gui’s turn, brother? 
The Saints aid thee, in especial two, that, being 
women, are yet no saints yet awhile — see how they 
watch thee, sweet, gentle dames! Their prayers 
go with thee, methinks, brother, and mine also, for 
the Red Gui is forsooth a valiant rogue! ” 

And now, mounted on the great black war-horse, 
the Knight of Tong rode up the lists : 

His scarlet plume ’bove shining helm a-dance. 

His bannerole a-flutter from long lance. 

Till he was come where, plain for all to spy, 

Was hung the shield and blazon of Sir Gui, 

With bends and bars in all their painted glory, 
Surcharged with hand ensanguined — gules or gory. 

Full upon this bloody hand smote the sharp point 
of Sir Palamon’s lance; whereupon the watching 
crowd surged and swayed and hummed expectant, 
since here was to be no play with blunted weapons 
but a deadly encounter. 

Up started Sir Gui and strode forth of his tent, 
grim-smiling and confident. Quoth he: 

177 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Ha, my Lord of Tong, thou Tt grown pre¬ 
sumptuous and over-venturesome, methinks. But 
since life thou dost hold so cheap prepare ye for 
death forthright! ” 

So spake the Lord of Ells and, beckoning to his 
esquires, did on his great tilting-helm and rode into 
the lists, whereon was mighty roar of welcome, for, 
though much hated, he was esteemed mighty at arms, 
and the accepted champion of the Duchy. So while 
the people thundered their acclaim the two knights 
galloped to their stations and, reining about, faced 
each other from either end of the lists. 

And halted thus, their deadly spears they couched, 
With helms stooped low, behind their shields they 
crouched; 

Now rang the clarions; goading spurs struck deep, 
The mighty chargers reared with furious leap 
And, like two whirlwinds, met in full career, 

To backward reel ’neath shock of splintering spear: 
But, all unshaken, every eye might see 
The bloody hand, the scarred gules falcons three. 
Thrice thus they met, but at the fourth essay. 

Rose sudden shout of wonder and dismay, 

For, smitten sore through riven shield, Sir Gui 
Thudded to earth there motionless to lie. 

Thus Sir Gui, Lord of Ells and Seneschal of 
Raddemore, wounded and utterly discomfited, was 
borne raging to his pavilion while the air rang with 
the blare of trumpet and clarion in honour of the 
victor. Thereafter, since no other knight thought 
it prudent to challenge him, Sir Palamon of Tong was 
declared champion of the tournament, and was 
summoned by the Chief Herald to receive the victor’s 
crown. But even as he rode towards the silk-cur- 
178 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

tained balcony, a distant trumpet shrilled defiance, 
and into the lists galloped a solitary knight. 

Well-armed was he in proud and war-like trim. 

Of stature tall and wondrous long of limb; 

’Neath red surcoat black was the mail he wore; 

His glitt’ring shield a rampant leopard bore. 
Beholding which the crowd cried in acclaim, 

“ Ho for Sir Agramore of Biename ! ” 

But from rosy-red to pale, from pale to rosy-red 
flushed the Duchess Benedicta, and clenching white 
teeth, she frowned upon Sir Agramore’s fierce and 
warlike figure. Quoth she : 

“Oh, sure there is no man so vile or so unworthy 
in all Christendom as this vile Lord of Biename!” 

“Unless,” said Yolande, frowning also, “unless it 
be my Lord Gui of Ells!” 

“True, my Yolanda! Now, as thou dost hate 
Sir Gui so hate I Sir Agramore, therefore pray we 
sweet maid, petition we the good Saints our valiant 
singer shall serve my hated Sir Agramore as he did 
thy hated Sir Gui— may he be bruised, may he 
be battered, may-” 

“ Oho, ’t is done, my sweeting! A-hee — a-hi, ’t is 
done!” croaked a voice, and starting about, the 
Duchess beheld a bent and hag-like creature, 

With long, sharp nose that showed beneath her hood, 
A nose that curved as every witch’s should. 

And glittering eye, before whose baleful light. 

The fair Yolande shrank back in sudden fright. 

“Nay, my Yolande,” cried the Duchess, “hast 
forgot old Mopsa, my foster-mother, that, being a 
wise-woman, fools decry as witch, and my ten grave 
179 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

and learned guardians have banished therefor ? 
Hast forgot my loved and faithful Mopsa that is 
truly the dearest, gentlest, wisest witch that e’er 
witched rogue or fool ? But O Mopsa, wise mother 

— would’st thou might plague and bewitch in very 
truth yon base caitiff knight, Sir Agramore of 
Biename!” 

“’T is done, loved daughter, ’t is done!” chuckled 
the Witch. 

“He groaneth. 

He moaneth, 

He aileth. 

He waileth, 

Lying sighing. 

Nigh to dying, 

Oho, 

I know 
’T is so. 

With bones right sore, 

Both ’hind and fore, 

Sir Agramore 
Doth ache all o’er. 

“ He aileth sore yet waileth more — oho ! I know, 
I have seen — in the chalk, in the ink, in the smoke 

— I looked and saw 

“Sir Agramore, 

By bold outlaw, 

Bethwacked most sore 
As told before-” 

“Nay, but, good Mopsa, how may this be? Sir 
Agramore rideth armed yonder, plain to my sight.” 
180 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

‘‘Child, I have told thee sooth,” croaked the 
Witch. “Have patience, watch and be silent, and 
shalt grow wise as old Mopsa — mayhap — in time. 

“For, ’tis written in the chalk, 

Sore is he and may not walk. 

O, sing heart merrily ! 

I have seen within the smoke 
Bones bethwacked by lusty stroke. 

Within the ink I looked and saw. 

Swathed in clouts. Sir Agramore; 

Dread of him for thee is o’er. 

By reason of a bold outlaw. 

Sing, heart, and joyful be!” 

“Go to, Mopsa, thou’rt mad!” quoth the 
Duchess. “For yonder is this hated lord very 
strong and hale, and in well-being whiles thou dost 
rave ! Truly thou ’rt run mad, methinks !” 

But the old Witch only mumbled and mowed, 
and cracked her finger-bones as is the custom of 
witches. 

Meantime, Sir Agramore, checking his fiery 
charger and brandishing heavy lance fiercely aloft, 
roared loud defiance: 

“What ho! Ye knights, lords, esquires, and 
lovers of lusty blow’s, hither come I with intent, 
sincere and hearty, to bicker with, fight, combat 
and withstand all that will — each and every, 
a-horse or a-foot, with sword, battleaxe or lance. 
Now all ye that love good blows — have at ye !” 

Here ensued great clamour and a mighty blowing 
of trumpets that waxed yet louder when it was 
proclaimed that Sir Palamon, as champion of the 
day, had accepted Sir Agramore’s haughty challenge. 

And now all was hushed as these two doughty 
181 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

knights faced each other and, as the trumpets brayed, 
charged furiously to meet with thunderous shock 
of breaking lances and reeling horses that, rearing 
backwards, fell crashing upon the torn and trampled 
grass. But their riders, leaping clear of lashing 
hooves, drew their swords and, wasting no breath 
in words, beset each other forthwith, smiting with 
right good will. 

Sir Agramore’s leopard shield was riven in twain by 
a single stroke, Sir Palamon’s scarlet plume was 
shorn away, but they fought only the fiercer as, 
all untiring, the long blades whirled and flashed un¬ 
til their armour rang, sparks flew, and the populace 
rocked and swayed and roared for very joy. Once 
Sir Agramore was beaten to his knees, but rising, 
grasped his sword in two hands and smote a mighty 
swashing blow, a direful stroke that burst the lacing 
of Sir Palamon’s great helm and sent it rolling on 
the sward. But, beholding thus his adversary’s 
face, Sir Agramore, crying in sudden amaze, sprang 
back; for men all might see a visage framed in long, 
black-curled hair, grey-eyed, but a face so direly 
scarred that none, having seen it but once, might 
well forget. 

“ Par Dex ! ” panted Sir Agramore, lifting his vizor. 

“Pertinax !” gasped Duke Jocelyn. “O Pertinax 
— thou loved and lovely smiter — ne’er have I been 
so sore battered ere now ! ” 

Hereupon all folk stared in hugeous wonderment 
to behold these two champions drop their swords 
and leap to clasp and hug each other in mighty 
arms, to pat each other’s mailed shoulders and grasp 
each other’s mailed hands. Quoth Sir Pertinax: 

“Lord, how came ye in this guise?” 

“My Pertinax, whence stole ye that goodly 
armour ? ” 


182 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Lord, oath made I to requite one Sir Agramore 
of Biename for certain felon blow. Him sought I 
latterly therefore, and this day met him journey¬ 
ing hither, and so, after some disputation, I left 
him lying by the way, nor shall he need armour 
awhile, methinks — wherefore I took it and rode 
hither seeking what might befall-” 

But here. Sir Gui, all heedless of his wound, 
started up from his couch, raising great outcry: 

“Ha — roguery, roguery! Ho, there, seize me 
yon knave that beareth the cognizance of Toig. 
Ha — treason, treason!” At this, others took up 
the cry and divers among the throng, beholding 
Duke Jocelyn’s scarred features, made loud tumults : 
“The Fool! The Fool! ’T is the Singing Motley ! 
’T is the rogue-Fool that broke prison — seize him! 
Seize him ! ” And many, together with the soldiery, 
came running. 

“Lord,” quoth Sir Pertinax, catching up his 
sword, “here now is like to be a notable, sweet 
affray! ” But even as' these twain turned to meet 
their many assailants was thunder of hoofs, a loud, 
merry voice reached them, and they saw Robin hard 
by who held two trampling chargers. 

“ Mount, brothers — mount! ” he cried. “ Mount, 
then spur we for the barriers!” So they sprang to 
saddle and, spurring the rearing horses, galloped 
for the barriers, all three, nor was there any who 
dare stay them or abide the sweep of those long 
swords. Thus, leaping the barriers, they galloped 
away and left behind roaring tumult and dire con¬ 
fusion. 

And amid all this, hid by the silken curtains of 
her balcony, the Duchess Benedicta uttered a 
joyous cry and, clasping Yolande in her arms, kissed 
her rapturously. 


183 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Yolande!” she cried, “0 dear my friend, thou 
didst see — even as did I — a sorry fool and a poor 
rogue-soldier at hand-strokes with each other — O 
wise Fool! O knightly Rogue! Come, let us fly, 
Yolande, let us to the wild-wood and, lost therein, 
love, True-love, methinks, shall find us. Nay — 
ask me nothing, only hear this. Be thou to thine 
own heart true, be thou brave and Shame shall fly 
thee since True-love out-faceth Shame ! How say’st 
thou, Mopsa, thou wise witch-mother?” 

“Ah, sweet children !” croaked the Witch, touch¬ 
ing each with claw-like hand yet hand wondrous 
gentle. “True-love shall indeed find ye, hide where 
ye will. For True-love, though blind, they say, 
hath eyes to see all that is good and sweet and true. 
A poor man-at-arms in rusty mail may yet be true 
man and a fool, for all his motley, wise. To love 
such seemeth great folly, yet to the old, love is but 
folly. Nath’less, being old I do love ye, and being 
wise I charge ye : 

“Follow Folly and be wise. 

In such folly wisdom lies; 

Love’s blind, they say, but Love hath eyes, 

So follow Folly — follow!” 

My daughter Gillian animadverteth : 

Gill : “ Stop ! Your tournament, father, seems too 

long drawn out, 

With quite too much combating and knock¬ 
ing about. 

Myself : I hope you he wrong, my dear, although 

Who knows ? Perhaps, it may be so. 

Gill: And such scrappy bits of love-making you 

write; 

You seem to prefer much describing a fight. 
184 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

All authors should write what their readers 
like best; 

But authors are selfish, yes — even the best 
And you are an author! 

Myself : Alack, that is true, 

And, among other things, I’m the author 
of you. 

Gill : Then, being my author, it ’s plain as can be 

That you are to blame if I’m naughty — not 
me. 

But, father, our Geste, though quite corking 
in places, 

Has too many fights and too little embraces. 
You ’ve made all our lovers so frightfully 
slow, 

You ought to have married them pages ago. 
The books that are nicest are always the sort 
That, when you have read them, seem al¬ 
ways too short! 

If you make all your readers impatient like 
me, 

They ’ll buy none of your books — and then 
where shall we be ? 

All people like reading of love when they can. 
So write them a lot, father, that is the plan. 
Go on to the love, then, for every one’s sake, 
And end with a wedding- 

Myself : Your counsel I ’ll take. 

I can woo them and wed them in less than 
no time, 

I can do it in prose, in blank verse, or in 
rhyme; 

But since, my dear, you are for speed, 

To end our Geste I will proceed. 

In many ways it may be done, 

As I have told you — here is one: 


A short two years have elapsed and we find our hero 
Jocelyn tenderly playing with a golden-haired prattler, 

185 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

his beloved son and heir, while his beautiful spouse Yolande 
busied with her needle, smiles through happy tears. 

Gill: O, hush, father! Of course, that is simply 

absurd! 

Such terrible piffle- 

Myself : I object to that word ! 

Gill : Well, then, please try a little verse. 

Myself : With pleasure : 

“My own at last!” Duke Joc’lyn fondly cried, 

And kissed Yolande, his blooming, blushing bride. 

“My own !” he sighed. “My own — my very own !” 
“Thine, love !” she murmured. “Thine and thine alone, 
Thy very own for days and months and years-” 

Gill : O, stop ! I think that ’s even worse! 

Myself : Beyond measure. 

Then here’s a style may be admired 
Since brevity is so desired : 

So he married her and she married him, and everybody 
married each other and lived happy ever after. 

Or again, and thus, my daughter, 

Versified it may be shorter: 

So all was marriage, joy and laughter, 

And each lived happy ever after. 

Or: 

If for High Romance you sigh, 

Here ’s Romance that’s over high: 

Shy summer swooned to autumn’s sun-burned arms, 
Swoon, summer, swoon! 

While roses bloomed and blushing sighed their pain, 
Blush, roses, blush! 

186 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Filling the world with perfume languorous, 

Sighing forth their souls in fragrant amorousness; 
And fair Yolande, amid these bloomful languors, 
Blushing as they, as languorous, as sweet, 

Sighed in the arms that passioned her around: 

O Jocelyn, O lord of my delight, 

See how- 


Gill : 

Stop, father, stop, I beg of you. 

Such awful stuff will never do, 

I suppose you must finish it in your own 

Myself : 

way- 

I suppose that I shall, child, that is — if I 

Gill: 

may. 

But father, wait — I must insist 

Whatever else you do 

It’s time that somebody was kissed 

It does n’t matter who — 

I mean either Yolande the Fair 

Or else the Duchess — I don’t care. 

Myself : 

In these next two Fyttes both shall kiss 

And be well kissed, I promise this. 

Two Fyttes of kisses I will make 

One after t’ other, for your sake. 

Two Fyttes of love I will invent 

And make them both quite different, 

Which is a trying matter rather 

And difficult for any father — 

But then, as well you know, my Gillian, 

You have a father in a million; 

And Oh, methinks’t is very plain 

You ne’er shall meet his like again. 


187 


FYTTE 11 


How Pertinax fell out with Robin and with Friar, 
Yet, in that very hour, came by his heart’s desire. 


The sinking sun had set the West aflame, 

When our three riders to the wild-wood came, 

Where a small wind ’mid sun-kissed branches played, 
And deep’ning shadows a soft twilight made; 

Where, save for leafy stirrings, all was still. 

Lulled by the murmur of a bubbling rill 
That flowed o’ershadowed by a mighty oak. 

Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightning stroke. 

Here Robin checked his steed. “Good friends,” 
quoth he, 

My daughter gillian suggesteth : 

Gill : That’s rather good, 

But, still, I should 
In prose prefer the rest; 

For if this fytte 
Has love in it, 

Prose is for love the best. 

All ord’nary lovers, as every one knows. 
Make love to each other much better in prose. 
If, at last, our Sir Pertinax means to propose. 
Why then — just to please me, 

Father, prose let it be. 

Myself : Very well, I agree! 

Then said Robin, quoth he : 

188 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Good friends, here are we safe!” And, checking 
his steed within this pleasant shade, he dismounted. 

“Safe, quotha?” said Sir Pertinax, scowling back 
over shoulder. “Not so! Surely we are close 
pursued — hark! Yonder be horsemen riding at 
speed — ha, we are beset!” 

“Content you, sir!” answered Robin. “Think 
you I would leave behind good booty? Yonder 
come ten noble coursers laden with ten goodly 
armours the same won a-jousting to-day by this 
right wondrous Fool, my good gossip-” 

“Thy gossip, forsooth!” snorted Sir Pertinax. 
“But tell me, presumptuous fellow, how shall these 
ten steeds come a-galloping hither!” 

“Marry, on this wise, Sir Simple Innocence — 
these steeds do gallop for sufficient reason, namely 
— they are to gallop bidden being ridden, bestridden 
and chidden by whip and spur applied by certain 
trusty men o’ my company, which men go habited, 
decked, dressed, clad, guised and disguised as smug, 
sleek citizens, Sir Innocent Simplicity-” 

“Par Dex!” exclaimed Sir Pertinax, scowling. 
“And who ’rt thou, sirrah, with men at thy beck 
and call ? ” 

“Behold!” said Robin, unhelming. “Behold the 
king of all masterless rogues, and thy fellow gallow’s- 
bird, Sir High Mightiness !” 

“Ha, is’t thou?” cried Sir Pertinax. “Now a 
plague on thy kingdom and thee for an unhanged, 
thieving rogue-” 

“E’en as thyself,” nodded Robin, “thou that 
flaunted thy unlovely carcass in stolen armour.” 

“Ha!” roared Sir Pertinax, clapping hand on 
sword. “A pest — a murrain ! This to me, thou 
dog’s-meat ? Malediction! Now will I crack thy 

numbskull for a pestilent malapert-” 

189 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Nay, Sir Grim-and-gory,” laughed Robin, 
“rather will I now use thee as thou would’st ha’ 
served me on a day but for this generous and kindly 
Fool, my good comrade!” And speaking, Robin 
sprang nimbly to the great oak tree and thrusting 
long arm within the jagged fissure that gaped therein 
drew forth a hunting-horn and winded it loud and 
shrill. And presently was a stir, a rustle amid the 
surrounding brushwood and all about them were 
outlaws, wild men and fierce of aspect, and each 
and every grasped long-bow with arrow on string 
and every arrow was aimed at scowling Sir Pertinax. 

“Per Dex!” quoth he, “and is this death, then ?” 

“Verily!” nodded Robin, “an I do speak the 
word.” 

“So be it — speak!” growled Sir Pertinax. 
“Come, Death — I fear thee not!” And out 
flashed his long sword; but even then it was twisted 
from his grasp and Lobkyn Lollo, tossing the great 
blade aloft and, catching it very featly, laughed 
and spake: 

“Five times, five times ten 
Are we, all lusty men. 

An hundred twice and fifty deaths are we, 

So, an Rob speak, dead thou ’It as often be.” 

“Nay, hold a while, sweet lads !” laughed Robin, 
“the surly rogue shall sing for his life and our good 
pleasaunce.” 

“Sing?” roared Sir Pertinax. “I sing! I? Ha, 
dare ye bid me so, base dog? Sing, forsooth? By 
Og and Gog! By the Seven Champions and all 
the fiends, rather will I die!” And here, being de¬ 
fenceless, Sir Pertinax clenched mighty fists and 
swore until he lacked for breath. 

190 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Then spake Jocelyn, gentle-voiced. 

“Sing, Pertinax,” quoth he. 

“Ha — never ! Not for all the- 99 

“I do command thee, Pertinax. As Robin once 
sang for his life, now must thou sing for thine. Song 
for song, ’t is but just! Sing, Pertinax!” 

“Nay,” groaned the proud knight, “I had rather 
drink water and chew grass like a rabbit. Moreover 

I ha’ no gift o’ song-” 

“Do thy best!” quoth Robin. 

“I’m harsh o’ voice — knave !” 

“Then croak — rogue !” quoth Robin. 

“No song have I — vermin !” 

“Make one — carrion! But sing thou shalt 
though thy song be no better than hog-song which is 
grunt. Howbeit sing thou must!” 

Hereupon Sir Pertinax gnashed his teeth and 
glaring balefully on Robin lifted hoarse voice and 
burst forth into fierce song: 

“Thou base outlaw. 

Vile clapper-claw, 

Since I must sing a stave. 

Then, here and now, 

I do avow 

Thou art a scurvy knave ! 

Thy hang-dog air 

Doth plain declare 

Thou ’rt very scurvy knave. 

“ Rogues breed apace 
In each vile place. 

But this I will avow, 

Where e’er rogues be 
No man may see 
A viler rogue than thou, 

191 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Since it were vain 
To meet again 

A rogue more vile than thou. 

“As rogue thou art, 

In every part, 

Then-” 

“Hold there — hold!” cried Robin, stopping his 
ears. “Thy voice is unlovely as thy look and thy 
song as ill as thy voice, so do we forgive thee the 
rest. Ha’ done thy bellowing and begone-” 

“Ha — not so !” quoth Sir Pertinax. “For troth 
I do sing better than methought possible, and my 
rhyming is none so ill! So will I rhyme thy every 
knavish part and sing song till song and rhyme be 
ended. Have at thee again, base fellow ! 

Since rogue thou art 
In every part — part — 

Ha, plague on’t, hast put me out, rogue! I was 
about to hang thy every roguish part in rhyme, but 
my rhymes halt by reason o’ thee, rogue.” 

“Forsooth ! ” laughed Robin. “ Thus stickest thou, 
for thy part, at my every part, the which is well 
since I am man of parts. Thus then rhyme thou 
rhymes upon thyself therefore; thus, thyself rhym¬ 
ing rhymes of thee, thou shalt thyself, rhyming of 
thyself, thyself pleasure thereby, thou thus rhyming 
of thee, and thee, thou. Thus thy thee and thou 
shall be well accorded. How think’st thou?” 

But Sir Pertinax, astride his charger that cropped 
joyously at sweet, cool grass, sat chin on fist, lost 
in the throes of composition, nothing heeding, even 
when came the ten steeds with the ten suits of armour. 
192 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Now these ten horses bare eleven riders, tall, lusty 
fellows all, save one shrouded in hood and cloak 
and whom Jocelyn viewed with quick, keen eyes. 
And thus he presently whispered Robin who, laugh¬ 
ing slyly, made signal to his followers, whereupon, 
by ones and twos they stole silently away until 
there none remained save only Sir Pertinax who, 
wrestling with his muse, stared aloft under knitted 
brows, all unknowing, and presently brake out 
singing on this wise: 

“All men may see 
A man in me, 

A man who feareth no man. 

Thus, fearless, I 
No danger fly-” 

“Except it be a woman !” sang a soft, sweet voice 
hard by, in pretty mockery. Hereat Sir Pertinax 
started so violently that his mail clashed and he 
stared about him eager-eyed but, finding himself 
quite alone, sighed and fell to reverie. 

“A woman?” said he aloud. “‘Except it be a 
woman- 

The Voice : Aye — a woman, O craven soldier! 

Sir Pertinax : Why here is strange echo methinks 
and speaketh — with her voice! 

The Voice : 4 O voice so soft and full of sweet allure ! 9 

Sir Pertinax : O voice beloved that might my 
dolour cure! 

The Voice: O craven soldier! O most timid 
wooer! 


193 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Sir Pertinax : Craven am I, yet lover — ’tis most 
sure. 

The Voice : But thou ’rt a man — at least me- 
seemeth so. 

Sir Pertinax: And, being man, myself unworthy 
know, 

Yet must I love and my beloved seek 
And, finding her, no words of love dare speak. 

For this my love beyond all words doth reach, 

And I’m slow-tongued and lack the trick of speech. 
Nor hope have I that she should stoop to bless, 

A man so full of all unworthiness. 

So am I dumb- 

The Voice : And yet dost speak indeed, 

Such words, methinks, as any maid might heed. 

“Ha, think ye so in verity, sweet voice!” cried 
Sir Pertinax, and springing lightly to earth, strode 
forward on eager feet. And lo! from behind a 
certain tree stepped one who, letting fall shrouding 
cloak and hood, stood there a maid, dark-haired 
and darkly bright of eye, very shapely and fair to 
see in her simple tire. And beholding her thus, the 
tender curve of scarlet lips, the flutter of slender 
hands, the languorous bewitchment of her eyes, Sir 
Pertinax halted. 

My daughter Gillian interpolateth : 

Gill : What, again ? Father, that will never do. 

Don’t make him halt again, I beg of you. 

Sir Pertinax has halted much too long, 

To make him do it here would be quite 
wrong! 


194 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Myself : My child, I wish you would not interrupt 

My halting muse in manner so abrupt- 

Gill : But here ’s a chance at last to let them kiss, 

And now you make him halt! 

Myself : Exactly, miss! 

Sir Pertinax halted and bowed his head abashed. 

My daughter Gillian persisteth : 

Gill: Well, father, while he halts, then tell me, 

pray, 

Just what you mean by that line where you 
say, 

‘ The languorous bewitchment of her eyes 9 ? 
Myself : My child, no child should authors catechise, 
Especially, poor fellow, if, like me, 

Father and author both at once is he. 

Wise authors all such questions strictly ban, 
And never answer — even if they can. 

If of our good knight’s wooing you would 
hear, 

Keep stilly tongue and hearken well, my 
dear. 

Sir Pertinax halted and bowed his head, abashed 
by her beauty. 

“Melissa!” he whispered, “O Melissa!” and so 
stood mute. 

“O Pertinax!” she sighed. “Art dumb at sight 
of me ? O Pertinax, and wherefore ? ” 

“All have I forgot save only thy loveliness, 
Melissa!” 

“Methinks such — forgetfulness becometh thee 
well. Savon!” 

“Ah, Melissa, I — do love thee.” 

“Why this I knew when thou didst sit a-fishing!” 

195 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“But, indeed, then I dreamed not of loving thee 
or any maid.” 

“Because thou art but a man.” 

“Verily, and being man, now came I seeking thee 
for Love’s sweet sake yet, finding thee, know not how 
to speak thee. Alas, I do fear I am but sorry wooer ! ” 

“Alas, Pertinax, I do fear thou art! Yet thou 
shalt learn, perchance. How — art dumb again, 
canst speak me no more?” 

“Nought — save only this, thou art beyond all 
maids fair, Melissa!” 

“ Why, I do think thou ’It make a wooer some day 
mayhap, by study diligent. ’T will take long time 
and yet — I would not have thee learn too soon! 
And hast thought of me? A little?” 

“I have borne thee ever within my heart.” 

“And wherefore wilt love maid so lowly?” 

“For that thou art thyself and thyself — Melissa. 
And O, I love thy voice!” 

“My voice? And what more?” 

“Thine eyes. Thy little, pretty feet. Thy scarlet 
mouth. Thy gentle, small hands. Thy hair. All 
of thee!” 

“O,” she murmured a little breathlessly, “if thou 
dost so love me — woo me — a little !” 

“Alas !” he sighed, “I know not how.” 

“Hast ne’er wooed maid ere this, big soldier?” 

“Never!” 

“Thou poor Pertinax ! How empty — how drear 
thy life. For this do I pity thee with pity kin to 
love-” 

“Love?” he whispered. “Ah, Melissa, couldst 
e’en learn to love one so unlovely, so rude, so rough 
and unmannered as I?” 

“Never!” she sighed, “O, never — unless thou 
teach me?” 

196 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Would indeed I might, Melissa. Ah, teach me 
how I may teach thee to love one so unworthy as 
Pertinax!” 

Now hearkening to his harsh voice grown soft 
and tremulous, beholding the truth in his honest 
eyes, Melissa smiled, wondrous tender, and reaching 
out took hold upon his two hands. 

“Kneel!” she commanded. “Kneel here upon 
the grass as I do kneel. Now, lay by thy cumbrous 
helmet. NoW fold thy great, strong hands. Now 
bow thy tall, grim head and say in sweet, soft accents 
low and reverent: ‘Melissa, I do love thee heart 
and soul, thee only do I love and thee only will I 
love now and for ever. So aid me, Love, amen!’” 
Then, closing his eyes. Sir Pertinax bowed reverent 
head, and, humbly folding his hands, spake as she 
bade him. Thereafter opening his eyes, he saw her 
watching him through gathering tears, and leaning 
near, he reached out eager arms, yet touched her 
not. Quoth he: “O maid beloved, what is thy 
sorrow ? ” 

“ ’T is joy — joy, and thou — thou art so strong 
and fierce yet so gentle and simple of heart! O, 
may I prove worthy thy love-” 

“Worthy? Of my love?” he stammered. “But 
O Melissa, I am but he thou didst name harsh of 
tongue.” 

“Aye, I did !” she sobbed. 

“Hard of heart, flinty of soul, rude, unmannered 
and unlovely.” 

“Aye — I did and — loved thee the while!” she 
whispered. “ So now do I pray that I prove worthy.” 

“Worthy? Thou? O my sweet maid—thou 
that art kin to the holy angels, thou so high and far 
removed ’bove me that I do tremble and — fear to 
touch thee-” 

197 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Nay, fear me not, Pertinax,” she sighed, “for 
though indeed I am all this, yet maid am I also and 
by times — very human. So Pertinax, thou great, 
fearless man-at-arms, lay by thy so great fears a 
while — I do beseech thee.” Then Sir Pertinax, be¬ 
holding the tender passion of her eyes, forgot his 
fear in glad wonderment and, reaching out hands 
that trembled for all their strength, drew her to his 
close embracement. 

And thus, kneeling together upon the sun-dappled 
sward, they forgot all things in this joyous world 
save only their love and the glory of it. And when 
they had kissed each other- 

My daughter Gillian remonstrateth : 

Gill : But, wait, they have n’t yet, you know ! 

Myself : Indeed, they have, I’ve just said so. 

Gill : Then, father, please to tell me this : 

How can a person say a kiss ? 

And so, since kisses can’t be said, 

Please make them do it now instead. 

Thus, cradled in his strong arms, she questioned 
him tenderly: 

“Dost mind how, upon a day, my Pertinax, didst 
ask of me the amulet I bore within my bosom ?” 

“Aye,” he answered, “and sure ’tis charm of 
potent magic whose spell brought us out of the 
dungeon at Canalise — the which is great matter for 
wonder! But ’t is for thy dear sake I do cherish 
it-” 

“Bear you it yet?” 

“Here upon my heart.” 

“And if I should ask it of thee again — wouldst 
render it back to me ? ” 

198 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Never!” quoth he. “Never, until with it I 
give thee myself also !” 

But presently she stirred in his embrace for upon 
the air was an approaching clamour, voices, laughter 
and the ring of mail. 

“Come away!” whispered Melissa, upspringing 
to her feet. “Come, let thou and Love and I hide 
until these disturbers be gone and the sweet world 
hold but us three again.” 

Now, as they stood, hand in hand, deep hidden 
’mid the green, they beheld six merry woodland 
rogues who led an ambling ass whereon rode a friar 
portly and perspiring albeit he had a jovial eye. 
And as he rode he spake his captors thus in voice 
full-toned and deep: 

“Have a care, gentle rogues and brethren, hurry 
not this ambulant animal unduly, poor, much- 
enduring beast. Behold the pensive pendulation 
of these auriculars so forlornly a-dangle! Here is 
ass that doth out-patience all asses, both four and 
two-legged. Here is meek ass of leisured soul lov¬ 
ing not haste — a very pensive perambulator. So 
hurry not the ass, my brothers, for these several 
and distinct reasons or arguments. Firstly, dearly 
beloved, because I love haste no more than the 
ass; secondly, brethren, ’t is property of Holy 
Church which is above all argument; and, thirdly, 
’t is bestridden by one Friar John, my very self, and I 
am forsooth weighty argument. Fourthly, beloved, 
’t is an ass that — ha! O sweet vision for eyes 
human or divine! Do I see thee in very truth, 
thou damsel of disobedience, dear dame of discord, 
sweet, witching, wilful lady — is it thou in very 
truth, most loved daughter, or wraith conjured of 
thy magic and my perfervid imaginations — speak!” 

“’Tis I myself, Reverend Father!” laughed 

199 




The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Melissa. “0 my dear, good Friar John, methinks 
the kind Saints have brought thee to my need.” 

“Saints, quotha!” exclaimed the Friar, rolling 
merry eye towards his several captors. “Call ye 
these — Saints ? Long have I sought thee, thou 
naughty maid, and to-day in my quest these brawny 
‘saints’ beset me with bow and quarterstaff and me 
constrained hither — but my blessing on them since 
they have brought me to thee. And now, sweet 
child and daughter, whiles the news yet runneth 
hot-foot or, like bird unseen, wingeth from lip to 
lip, I thy ghostly father have rare good news for 
thee-” 

“Nay, Friar John, I will guess thy tidings: Sir 
Agramore of Biename lieth sorry and sore of a 
cudgelling.” 

“How!” cried the Friar. “Thou dost know — 
so soon ?” 

“Verily, Reverend Father, nor have I or my 
worthy guardians aught to fear of him hereafter. 
And now have I right wondrous news for thee, news 
that none may guess. List, dear Friar John, thou 
the wisest and best loved of all my guardians ten; 
to-day ye are absolved henceforth all care of your 
wilful ward since to-day she passeth from the 
guardianship of ye ten to the keeping of one. Come 
forth, Pertinax, thou only one beloved of me for 
no reason but that thou art thou and I am I — as 
is ever the sweet, mad way of True-love — come 
forth, my dear-loved, poor soldier!” Out from the 
trees strode Pertinax but, beholding his face, Friar 
John scowled and, viewing his rich surcoat and 
goodly armour, fell to perspiring wonder and amaze. 

“Now by the sweet Saint Amphibalus!” quoth 
he. “Surely these be the arms of Sir Agramore, 
dread Lord of Biename?” 


200 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Most true, dear Friar John,” answered Melissa, 
“and by this same token Sir Agramore lieth sore 
bruised e’en now.” 

“Aha!” quoth the Friar, mopping moist brow. 
“ ’T is well — ’t is very well, so shall these two ears 
of mine, with eighteen others of lesser account, 
scathless go and all by reason of this good, tall 
fellow. Howbeit, I do know this same fellow for 
fellow of none account, and no fit mate for thee, 
noble daughter, love or no. A fierce, brawling, 
tatterdemalion this, that erstwhile tramped in 
company with long-legged ribald — a fro ward jest¬ 
ing fellow. Wherefore this fellow, though fellow 
serviceable, no fellow is for thee and for these 
sufficing reasons. Firstly-” 

“Ha — enough!” quoth Sir Pertinax, chin out- 
thrust. “‘Fellow’ me no more, Friar-” 

“Firstly,” continued Friar John, “because this 
out-at-elbows fellow is a rogue.” 

“‘Rogue/ in thy teeth. Churchman!” growled 
Sir Pertinax. 

“Secondly,” continued Friar John, nothing 
abashed, “because this rogue-fellow is a runagate 
roysterer, a nameless knave, a highway-haunter, a 
filching flick-o’-the-gibbet and a-” 

“Friar,” snorted Sir Pertinax, “thou ’rt but a very 
fat man scant o’ breath, moreover thou ’rt a friar, 
so needs must I leave thee alive to make pestilent 
the air yet a little until thou chokest of an epithet. 
Meantime perform now one gracious act in thy so 
graceless life and wed me with this forest maiden.” 

“Forest maiden, forsooth!” cried Friar John. 
“O Saints! O Martyrs! Forest maid, quotha! 
And wed her — and unto thee, presumptuous mala¬ 
pert ! Ho, begone, thy base blood and nameless 
rank forbid-” 


201 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Hold there, shaveling!” quoth Sir Pertinax, 
scowling. “Now mark me this! Though I, being 
very man, do know myself all unworthy maid so 
sweet and peerless, yet, and she stoop to wed me, 
then will I make her lady proud and dame of divers 
goodly manors and castles, of village and hamlet, 
pit and gallows, sac and soc, with powers the high, 
the middle and the low and with ten-score lances 
in her train. For though in humble guise I went, 
no nameless rogue am I, but Knight of Shene, Lord 
of Westover, Framling, Bracton and Deepdene-” 

“How!” cried Melissa, pouting rosy lip and 
frowning a little. “O Pertinax, art indeed a great 
lord?” 

“Why, sooth — forsooth and indeed,” he stam¬ 
mered, “I do fear I am.” 

“Then thou ’rt no poor, distressful, ragged, out¬ 
law-soldier ? ” 

“Alack — no!” he groaned, regardful of her 
frown. 

“Then basely hast thou tricked me — O cruel!” 

“Nay, Melissa — hear me!” he cried, and, for¬ 
getful of friar and gaping outlaws, he clasped her 
fast ’prisoned ’gainst his heart. “Thee do I love, 
dear maid, ’bove rank, or fame, or riches, or aught 
this world may offer. So, an thou wouldst have 
me ragged and destitute and outlaw, all this will 
I be for thy sweet sake since life were nought with¬ 
out thee, O maid I do so love — how say’st thou?” 

“I say to thee, Pertinax, that thy so great love 
hath loosed thy tongue at last, Love hath touched 
thy lips with eloquence beyond all artifice since 
now, methinks, it is thy very soul doth speak me. 
And who shall resist such wooing? Surely not I 
that do — love thee beyond telling. So take me, 
my lord, thy right hand in mine, the talisman in 
202 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

thy left — so ! Now, my Pertinax, speak thy heart’s 
wish.” 

“Friar,” quoth Sir Pertinax, holding aloft the 
Crystal Heart, “as her love is mine and mine hers, 
wed and unite us in our love — by the magic of 
this jewel I do command thee!” 

Here, beholding the talisman, Friar John gasped 
and stared round-eyed and incredulous. 

“By Holy Hood!” he whispered, “’t is indeed 
the Crystal Heart!” 

“And O!” sighed Melissa, “O Friar John, thou 
dost mind the saying: 

“‘He that taketh Crystal Heart, 

Taketh all and every part! ’ ” 

“Aye, truly — truly !” nodded the Friar. 

“‘And by night, or eke by day. 

The Crystal Heart all must obey! ’ ” 

So saying he got him down from the ass and, for all 
his corpulence, louted full low. 

“Sir Knight of Shene,” quoth he, “by reason of 
this jewel potential thou dost bear, now must I 
perforce obey thy behest and wed thee unto this 
our gracious lady Benedicta, Duchess of Ambre- 
mont, Canalise, Tissingors, Fordyngstoke and divers 
other towns, villages and-” 

“Duchess — a duchess ?” exclaimed Sir Pertinax. 
“Duchess say’st thou — this, the Duchess Bene¬ 
dicta ! O Melissa — thou — thou — a duchess 1 

“Sooth and forsooth,” sighed she in pretty 
mockery, “I do fear I am!” 

“Then thou ’rt no humble maid, distressful and 
forlorn, Melissa?” 


203 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Yea, Pertinax — all this am I indeed unless 
thou love me, and loving me, wed me, and wedding 
me love me the better therefor, and loving me ever 
the better, thou may’st learn a little some day how 
a woman may love a man.” 

“Par Dex!” mumbled Sir Pertinax, kissing her 
rosy finger-tips, “be thou duchess or witch-maid o’ 
the wood, I do love thee heart and soul, body and 
mind, now and for ever, Melissa.” 

Then Friar John, beholding the radiant joy of their 
faces, reached forth his hands in blessing. 

“Kneel ye, my children !” he sighed. “For here 
methinks is true-love such as brighteneth this world 
all too seldom. So here, within the forest, the which 
is surely God’s cathedral, this your love shall be 
sanctified unto you and the world be the better 
therefor ! Kneel ye, my children !” 

And thus, kneeling upon the flower-sprent turf 
hand in hand and with heads reverently bowed, 
they were wed, while the six outlaws stared in silent 
awe and the meek ass cropped the grass busily. 

“O Pertinax,” sighed the Duchess as they rose, 
“so greatly happy am I that I will others shall be 
happy likewise; let us make this indeed a day of 
gladness. I pray thee sound the bugle that hangeth 
within the great oak, yonder.” 

So Sir Pertinax took the horn and sounded thereon 
a mighty blast, loud and long and joyous. And 
presently came the outlaws, thronging in from all 
directions, until the sunny glade was full of their 
wild company, while in the green beyond pike- 
head twinkled and sword-blades glittered; and fore¬ 
most was Robin with Lobkyn Lollo beside him. 

“Robin,” said the Duchess, beckoning him near 
with white, imperious finger, “Robin a’ Green, 
thou whose tongue is quick and ready as thy hand, 
204 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

hast ever been gentle to the weak and helpless as 
I do know, in especial to two women that sought 
thy protection of late.” 

“Why, verily, lady, I mind them well, ,, nodded 
Robin, “and one was a maid passing fair and one 
an ancient dame exceeding wise. To aid such is 
ever a man’s joy — or should be.” 

“Knew ye who and what this maid was, Robin?” 

“Aye, lady, I knew her then as now for that proud 
and noble lady the Duchess Benedicta.” 

“And yet, Robin, knowing this and having me in 
thy power didst suffer me to go without let or hin¬ 
drance or single penny of ransom?” 

“My lady Duchess,” answered Robin, glancing 
round upon his wild company, “we be outlaws, ’tis 
true, and rogues — mayhap, yet are we men and 
thou a lady passing fair, wherefore — though I 
knew thee for the Duchess Benedicta, thou wert 
safe with us since we war not with women and harm 
no maids be they of high or low degree!” 

“Spoke like a very knight!” exclaimed the 
Duchess. “How think’st thou, my lord?” 

“Par Dex!” quoth Sir Pertinax. “Aye, by Our 
Lady of Shene Chapel within the Wood I swear it — 
thou ’rt a man, Robin ! So now do I sue pardon of 
thee for my song o’ rogues since no rogue art thou. 
And thou didst aid and shield her — this my wife 
that is the very eyes of me! So, by my troth, my 
good friend art thou henceforth, Rob o’ the Green!” 

“Nay, my lord,” answered Robin slyly, “for I 
am but Robin, and outlaw, and thou art the Duke !” 

“Forsooth — and so I am!” exclaimed Sir Per¬ 
tinax. “Ha — yet am I still a man, and there¬ 
fore —” 

“Wait, my lord!” said Benedicta. “Robin, 
give me thy sword!” So she took the weapon and 
205 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

motioning Robin to his knees, set the blade across 
his shoulder. “Robin a’ Green,” said she, “since 
thou art knightly of word and deed, knight shalt 
thou be in very truth. Sir Robin a’ Forest I make 
thee and warden over this our forest country. Rise 
up, Sir Robert.” Then up sprang Robin, bright¬ 
eyed and flushed of cheek. 

“Dear my lady,” cried he, “since knight hast 
made me, thy knight will I be henceforth in life or 

in death-” But here his voice was lost in the 

joyous acclamations of his followers who shouted 
amain until the Duchess quelled them with lifted 
hand. 

“Ye men of the wild-wood,” said she, looking 
round upon them gentle-eyed, “all ye that be home¬ 
less and desolate, lying without the law, this day 
joy hath found me, for this is my wedding-morn. 
And as I am happy I would see ye happy also. 
Therefore upon this glad day do we make proclama¬ 
tion, my Lord Duke and I — this day we lift from 
you each and every, the ban of outlawry — free 
men are ye to go and come as ye list — free men one 
and all and good citizens henceforth I pray!” Now 
here was silence awhile, then a hoarse murmur, swell¬ 
ing to a jubilant shout until the sunny woodland 
rang with the joy of it, near and far. 

“And now, Sir Robert,” laughed the Duchess, 
“pray you where is this noble Fool, this gentle 
Motley, this most rare singer of songs and breaker 
of lances ? Bid him to us.” 

“Ha — the Fool!” exclaimed Sir Pertinax, start¬ 
ing. 

“My lady,” answered Robin, “true, he was here, 
but when I sought him, a while since, there was Sir 
Palamon’s armour he had worn, but himself 
gone-” 


206 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Gone — gone say’st thou?” cried Sir Pertinax, 
glancing about. “Then needs must I go seek 
him-” 

“And wherefore, my lord?” cried the Duchess. 

“’Tis my — my duty, Melissa!” stammered Sir 
Pertinax. “He is my — my friend and — sworn 
brother-in-arms!” 

“And am I not thy wife, Pertinax?” 

“Aye, most dearly loved, and I, thy husband — 
and yet — needs must I seek this Fool, Melissa.” 

“O Pertinax — wilt leave me?” 

“Leave thee?” groaned Sir Pertinax. “Aye — 
for a while ! Leave thee ? Aye — though it break 
my heart needs must I! He, my — brother-in¬ 
arms. My duty calleth-” 

“And what of thy duty to me?” 

Now as Sir Pertinax wrung his hands in an agony 
of indecision, rose a whisper of sweet sound, the 
murmur of softly-plucked lute-strings, and into the 
glade, cock’s-comb aflaunt and ass’s ears a-dangle 
Duke Jocelyn strode and sang as he came a song he 
had made on a time, a familiar air: 

“Good Pertinax, why griev’st thou so? 

Free of all duty thou dost go, 

Save that which thou to Love dost owe, 

My noble Pertinax.” 

“And love from heaven hath stooped thus low 
To me!” quoth Pertinax. 

But here came Robin with certain of his men 
leading a snow-white palfrey richly caparisoned. 

“Right noble lady,” said he, “behold here a 
goodly, fair jennet to thy gracious acceptance.” 

“And indeed — ’tis rare, pretty beast!” ex- 
207 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

claimed Benedicta. “But Robin, Robin, 0 Sir 
Robert, whence had you this?” 

“Lady, upon a time I was an outlaw and lived 
as outlaws may, taking such things as Fate bestowed, 
and, lady: 


“ Fate is a wind 
To outlaws kind: 

But now since we be free-men all, I and my fellows, 
fain would we march hence in thy train to thy 
honour and our joyance. Wilt grant us this boon, 
lady?” 

“Freely, for ’tis rare good thought, Robin! 
Surely never rode duke and duchess so attended. 
How the townsfolk shall throng and stare to see our 
wild following, and my worthy guardians gape and 
pluck their beards for very amaze ! How think you, 
good Friar John ? ” 

“Why, verily, daughter, I, that am chiefest of 
thy wardens ten, do think it wise measure; as for 
thy other guardians let them pluck and gape until 
they choke. 

“In especial Greg’ry Bax, 

Who both beard and wisdom lacks. 

I say ’t is wise, good measure, for these that were 
outlaws be sturdy fellows with many friends in town 
and village, so shall this thy day of union be for 
them re-union, and they joy with thee.” 

Now being mounted the Duchess rode where stood 
Jocelyn, and looked down on him merry-eyed. 

“Sir Fool,” said she, “who thou art I know not, 
but I have hunted in Brocelaunde ere now, and I 
have eyes. And as thou ’rt friend to my dear lord, 
208 


The Geste of Duke J ocelyn 

friend art thou of mine, so do we give thee joyous 
welcome to our duchy. And, being thy friend, I 
pray thou may’st find that wonder of wonders the 
which hideth but to be found, and once found, shall 
make wise Fool wiser.” 

“Sweet friend and lady,” answered Jocelyn, 
“surely man so unlovely as I may not know this 
wonder for his very own until it first seek him. Is’t 
not so ? Let now thy woman’s heart counsel me.” 

“How, Sir Wise Folly, have I not heard thee 
preach boldness in love ere now?” 

“Aye — for others!” sighed Jocelyn. “But for 
myself — I fear — behold this motley ! This scarred 
face!” 

“Why as to thy motley it becometh thee well-” 

“Aye, but my face ? O, ’t is a hideous face !” 

“0 Fool!” sighed Benedicta, “know’st thou not 
that True-love’s eyes possess a magic whereby all 
loved things become fair and beauteous. So take 
courage, noble Motley, and may thy desires be 
crowned — even as our own.” 

“Gramercy, thou sweet and gentle lady. Happi¬ 
ness companion thee alway and Love sing ever 
within thee. Now for ye twain is love’s springtime, 
a season of sweet promise, may each promise find 
fulfilment and so farewell.” 

“Why then, Sir Fool, an thou wilt tarry here in 
the good greenwood a while, may Love guide thee. 
Now here is my counsel: Follow where thy heart 
commandeth and — fear not! And now. Sir Robert 
a’ Forest, form thy company, and since this is a 
day of gladness let them sing as they march.” 

“In sooth, dear my lady, that will we!” cried 
Robin. “There is song o’ spring and gladness I 
made that hath oft been our solace, and moreover 
it beginneth and endeth with jolly chorus well be- 
209 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

known to all. Ho, pikes to van and rear! Bows 
to the flanks — fall in ! Now trusty friends o’ the 
greenwood, free-men all, henceforth — now march 
we back to hearth and home and love, so sing ye — 
sing!” 

Hereupon from the ragged, close-ordered ranks 
burst a shout that swelled to rolling chorus; and 
these the words: 

The Men : Sing high, sing low, sing merrily — 
hey! 

And cheerily let us sing, 

While youth is youth then youth is gay 
And youth shall have his fling. 

Robin : The merry merle on leafy spray, 

The lark on fluttering wing 
Do pipe a joyous roundelay, 

To greet the blithesome spring. 

Hence, hence cold Age, black Care — 
away! 

Cold Age black Care doth bring; 

When back is bowed and head is grey. 
Black Care doth clasp and cling. 

Black Care doth rosy Pleasure stay, 

Age ageth everything; 

? T is farewell sport and holiday, 

On flowery mead and ling. 

If Death must come, then come he may. 
And wed with death-cold ring, 

Yet ere our youth and strength decay, 
Blithe Joy shall be our king. 

210 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

The Men : Sing high, sing low, sing merrily — hey ! 

And cheerily we will sing. 

So they marched blithely away, a right joyous 
company, flashing back the sunset glory from bright 
headpiece and sword-blade, while Jocelyn stood 
watching wistful-eyed until they were lost amid the 
green, until all sounds of their going grew to a hush 
mingling with the whisper of leaves and murmurous 
gurgle of the brook; and ever the shadows deepened* 
about him, a purple solitude of misty trees and 
tangled thickets, depth on depth, fading to a glim¬ 
mering mystery. 

Suddenly amid these glooming shadows a shadow 
moved, and forth into the darkling glade, mighty 
club on mighty shoulder, stepped Lobkyn Lollo 
the Dwarf, and his eyes were pensive and he sighed 
gustily. 

“Alack!” quoth he: 

“ So here’s an end of outlawry, 

And all along o’ lady, 

Yet still an outlaw I will be 
Shut in o’ shaws so shady. 

And yet it is great shame, I trow. 

That our good friends should freemen go 
And leave us lonely to our woe, 

And all along o’ lady. 

“And plague upon this love, I say. 

For stealing thus thy friend away, 

And since fast caught and wed is he 
Thy friend henceforth is lost to thee, 

And thou, poor Fool, dost mope and sigh, 

And so a plague on love! say I.” 

“Nay, good Lobkyn, what know you of love?” 

211 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Answered Lobkyn : 

“Marry, enough o’ love know I 
To steal away if love be nigh. 

“For love 3 s an ill as light as air, 

Yet heavy as a stone; 

O, love is joy and love is care, 

A song and eke a groan. 

“Love is a sickness, I surmise, 

Taketh a man first by the eyes, 

And stealing thence into his heart. 

There gripeth him with bitter smart. 

Alas, poor soul, 

What bitter dole, 

Doth plague his every part! 

“From heart to liver next it goes, 

And fills him full o’ windy woes. 

And, being full o 3 gusty pain, 

He groaneth oft, and sighs amain, 

Poor soul is he 
In verity, 

And for his freedom sighs in vain. 33 

“Miscall not love, Lobkyn, for sure True-love is 
every man’s birthright. 33 

Quoth Lobkyn : 

“Why then, methinks there 3 s many a wight 
That cheated is of his birthright, 

As, item first, here 3 s Lobkyn Lollo 
To prove thine argument quite hollow. 

Dare I at maid to cast mine eye, 

She mocketh me, and off doth fly, 

212 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

And all because I’m humped o’ back, 

And something to my stature lack. 

Thus, though I’m stronger man than three. 

No maid may love the likes o’ me. 

Next, there’s thyself — a Fool, I swear, 

At fight or song beyond compare. 

But — thou ’rt unlovely o’ thy look, 

And this no maid will ever brook. 

So thou and I, for weal or woe, 

To our lives’ end unloved must go. 

But think ye that I grieve or sigh ? 

Not so ! A plague on love, say I!” 

Now here Jocelyn sighed amain and, sitting be¬ 
neath a tree, fell to sad and wistful thinking. 

“Aye, verily,” he repeated, “I am ‘unlovely of my 
look.’” 

Quoth Lobkyn heartily: 

“In very sooth, 

Fool, that’s the truth!” 

“Alas!” sighed Jocelyn, “‘And this no maid 
will ever brook!’” 

Answered Lobkyn : 

“And there dost speak, wise Fool, again, 

A truth right manifest and plain, 

Since fairest maids have bat-like eyes. 

And see no more than outward lies. 

And seeing thus, they nothing see 
Of worthiness in you or me. 

And so, since love doth pass us by, 

The plague o’ plagues on love, say I! ” 

213 


The Geste of Doke Jocelyn 

“Nath’less,” cried the Duke, leaping to his feet. 
“I will put Love to the test — aye, this very hour !” 

Lobkyn : Wilt go, good Motley ? Pray thee where ? 
Jocelyn : To one beyond all ladies fair. 

Lobkyn : Then dost thou need a friend about thee 
To cheer and comfort when she flout thee. 
So, an thou wilt a-wooing wend, 

I ’ll follow thee like trusty friend. 

In love or fight thou shalt not lack 
A sturdy arm to ’fend thy back. 

I ’ll follow thee in light or dark, 

Through good or ill — Saints shield us! 
Hark! 

And Lobkyn started about, club poised for swift 
action, for, out-stealing from the shadows crept 
strange and dismal sound, a thin wail that sank to 
awful groaning rumble, and so died away. 

“O !” whispered Lobkyn : 

“Pray, Fool, pray with all thy might, 

Here’s goblin foul or woodland sprite 
Come for to steal our souls away, 

So on thy knees quick. Fool, and pray! ” 

But, as these dismal sounds brake forth again, 
Jocelyn stole forward, quarter-staff gripped in ready 
hand; thus, coming nigh the great oak, he espied 
a dim, huddled form thereby and, creeping nearer, 
stared in wonder to behold Mopsa, the old witch, 
striving might and main to wind the great hunting- 
horn. 

“What, good Witch!” quoth he, “here methinks 
is that beyond all thy spells to achieve.” 

“O Fool,” she panted, “kind Fool, sound me this 
214 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

horn, for I’m old and scant o’ breath. Wind it 
shrill and loud, good Motley, the rallying-note, for 
there is ill work afoot this night. Sound me shrewd 
blast, therefore.” 

“Nay, ’t were labour in vain, Witch; there be no 
outlaws hereabout, free men are they henceforth 
and gone, each and every.” 

“Out alas — alas!” cried the old woman, wring¬ 
ing her hands. “Then woe is me for the fair lady 
Yolande.” 

“Ha! What of her, good Witch? Threateneth 
danger? Speak!” 

“Aye, Fool, danger most dire! My Lord Gui 
yet liveth, and this night divers of his men shall bear 
her away where he lieth raging for her in his black 
castle of Ells-” 

“Now by heaven’s light!” swore Jocelyn, his 
eyes fierce and keen, “this night shall Fool be 
crowned of Love or sleep with kindly Death.” 

“Stay, Fool, thy foes be a many! Wilt cope with 
them alone?” 

“Nay !” cried a voice : 

“Not so, grandam 
For here I am !” 

and Lobkyn stepped forward. 

“Aha, my pretty poppet! Loved duck, my 
downy chick — what wouldst?” 

“Fight, grandam, 

Smite, grandam, 

Sweet, blood-begetting blows. 

Where Fool goeth 
Well Fool knoweth 
Lobkyn likewise goes.” 

215 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Why, then, my bantling — loved babe, fight 
thy fiercest, for these be wicked men and ’t will be 
an evil fray. And she is sweet and good, so, Lobkyn, 
be thy strongest-” 

Saith Lobkyn : 

“Aye that will I, 

Or may I die. 

By this good kiss 
I vow thee this. 

“And here is signal, Fool, shall shew 
Each where the other chance to go. 

“Croak like a frog. 

Bark like a dog. 

Grunt like a hog, 

I ’ll know thee. 

“Hoot like an owl. 

Like grey wolf howl. 

Or like bear growl, 

’T will shew thee-” 

“Then come, trusty Lob, and my thanks to thee!” 
cried Jocelyn, catching up his quarter-staff. “But 
haste ye, for I would be hence ere the moon get high. 
Come!” 

So Duke Jocelyn strode away with Lobkyn Lollo 
at his heels; now as they went, the moon began to 
rise. 


2l6 



FYTTE 12 


Which being the last Fytte of our Geste 
I hope may please my daughter best. 


“0, Wind of Night, soft-creeping. 

Sweet charge I give to thee, 

Steal where my love lies sleeping 
And bear her dreams of me; 

And in her dream, 

Love, let me seem 

All she would have me be. 

“Kind sleep ! By thee we may attain 
To joys long hoped and sought in vain, 

By thee we all may find again 
Our lost divinity. 

“So, Night-wind, softly creeping, 

This charge I give to thee. 

Go where my love lies sleeping 
And bear her dreams of me.” 

Hearkening to this singing Yolande shivered, 
yet not with cold, and casting a cloak about her 
loveliness came and leaned forth into the warm, 
still glamour of the night, and saw where stood 
Jocelyn tall and shapely in the moonlight, but with 
hateful cock’s-comb a-flaunt and ass’s ears gro¬ 
tesquely a-dangle; wherefore she sighed and frowned 
upon him, saying nothing. 

217 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Yolande?” he questioned. “O my lady, and 
wilt frown upon my singing ? ” 

Answered she, leaning dimpled chin upon white 
fist and frowning yet: 

“Nay, not — not thy — singing.” 

“Is’t then this cap o’ Folly — my ass’s ears, 
Yolande ? Then away with them ! So shalt jester 
become very man as thou art very maid!” Forth¬ 
with he thrust back his cock’s-comb and so stood 
gazing up at her wide-eyed. 

But she, beholding thus his scarred face, shivered 
again, shrinking a little, whereupon Jocelyn bowed 
his head, hiding his features in his long, black¬ 
curling hair. 

“Alas, my lady!” he said, “doth my ill face 
offend thee ? This would I put off also for thy sake 
an it might be, but since this I may not do, close 
thou thine eyes a while and hear me speak. For 
now do I tell thee, Yolande, that I — e’en I that am 
poor jester — am yet a man loving thee with man’s 
love. I that am one with face thus hatefully scarred 
do seek thee in thy beauty to my love —r—” 

“Presumptuous Fool, how darest thou speak me 
thus?” she whispered. 

“For that great love dareth greatly, Yolande.” 

“And what of thy lord? How of Duke Jocelyn, 
thy master?” 

“ He is but man, lady, even as I. Moreover for thee 
he existeth not since thou hast ne’er beheld him — 
to thy knowing.” 

“Nay, then — what of this?” she questioned, 
drawing the jewelled picture from her bosom. 

“’Tis but what it is, lady, a poor thing of paint!” 

“But sheweth face of noble beauty, Fool!” 

“Aye, nobly painted, Yolande! A thing of 
daubed colours, seeing naught of thy beauty, speak- 
218 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

ing thee no word of love, whiles here stand I, a 
sorry Fool of beauty none, yet therewithal a man to 
woo thee to my love-” 

“Thy love ? Ah, wilt so betray thy lord’s trust ?” 

“Blithely, Yolande ! For thee I would betray my 
very self.” 

“And thyself art Fool faithless to thy lord, a 
rhyming jester, a sorry thing for scorn or laughter — 
and yet — thy shameful habit shames thee not, and 
thy foolish songs hold naught of idle folly! And 
thou — thou art the same I saw ’mid gloom of 
dungeon sing brave song in thy chains! Thou art 
he that overthrew so many in the lists! O Joconde, 
my world is upside down by reason of thee.” 

“And thou, Yolande, didst stoop to me within my 
dungeon! And thou didst pray for me, Yolande, 
and now — now within this sweet night thou dost 
lean down to me through the glory of thy hair — 
to me in my very lowliness ! And so it is I love thee, 
Yolande, love thee as none shall ever love thee, for 
man am I with heart to worship thee, tongue to woo 
thee, eyes to behold thy beauties, and arms to clasp 
thee. So am I richer than yon painted duke that 
needs must woo thee with my lips. And could I 
but win thee to love — ah, Yolande, could I, despite 
these foolish trappings, this blemished face, see 
Love look on me from thine eyes, O — then-” 

“How — then — Joconde?” 

“Then should Fool, by love exalted, change to 
man indeed and I — mount up to heaven — thus ! ” 
So saying, Jocelyn began to climb by gnarled ivy 
and carven buttress. And ever as he mounted she 
watched him through the silken curtain of her hair, 
wide of eye and with hands tight-clasped. 

“Ah, Joconde!” she whispered, “’tis madness — 
madness! Ah, Joconde!” But swift he came and 
219 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

swung himself upon the balcony beside her and 
reached out his arms in mute supplication, viewing 
her wistfully but with scarred face transfigured by 
smile ineffably tender, and when he spoke his voice 
was hushed and reverent. 

“I am here, Yolande, because methought to read 
within thy look the wonder of all wonders. But, 
O my lady, because I am but what I am, fain would 
I hear thee speak it also.” 

“Joconde,” said she in breathless voice, “wouldst 
shame me-? ” 

“Shame?” he cried. “Shame? Can there be 
aught of shame in true love ? Or is it that my ass’s 
ears do shame thee, my cock’s-comb and garments 
pied shame the worship of this foolish heart, and I, 
a Fool, worshipping thee, shame thee by such wor¬ 
ship ? Then — on, cock’s-comb! Ring out, silly 
bells ! Fool’s love doth end in folly! Off love — 
on folly — a Fool can but love and die.” 

“Stay, Joconde; ah, how may I tell thee -? 

Why dost thou start and fumble with thy dagger ? ” 

“Heard you aught, lady?” 

“I heard an owl hoot in the shadows yonder, no 
more.” 

“True, lady, but now shall this owl croak like a 
frog — hearken ! Aha — and now shall frog bark 
like dog-” 

“And what meaneth this?” 

“That thou, proud lady, must this night choose 
betwixt knightly rogue and motley Fool — here be 
two evils with yet a difference-” 

“Here is strange, wild talk. Fool!” 

“Here shall be wild doings anon, lady, methinks. 
Hush thee and listen !” 

A jangle of bridle-chains, a sound of voices loud 
and rough, and a tread of heavy feet that, breaking 
220 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

rudely upon the gentle-brooding night, drove the 
colour from Yolande’s soft cheek and hushed her 
voice to broken whisper: 

“ Heaven shield us, what now, Joconde ? ” 

“Wolves, lady, wolves that come to raven — see 
yonder !” Even as he spake they espied armed men 
who, bold and assured by reason of the solitude, 
moved in the garden below; and on back and breast 
of each was the sign of the Bloody Hand. 

“My Lord Gui’s followers! Alas, Joconde, these 
mean thee ill — here is death for thee!” Now as 
she spake, Jocelyn thrilled to the touch of her hand 
upon his arm, a hand that trembled and stole to 
clasp his. “Alas, Joconde, they have tracked thee 
hither to slay thee-” 

“And were this so, wouldst fly with me, Yolande? 
Wouldst trust thy beauties to a Fool’s keeping?” 

“Nay, nay, this were madness, Joconde; rather 
will I hide thee — aye, where none shall dare seek 
thee — come!” 

“Yolande,” he questioned, “Yolande, wilt trust 
thyself to Love and me?” But seeing how she 
shrank away, his eager arms fell and he bowed his 
head. “Nay, I am answered,” quoth he, “even 
while thine eyes look love, thy body abhorreth Fool’s 
embrace — I am answered. Nay, ’t is enough, 
trouble not for words — ha, methinks it is too 
late, the wolves be hard upon us — hark ye to their 
baying!” 

And now was sudden uproar, a raving clamour of 
fierce shouts, and a thundering of blows upon the 
great door below. 

“Yolande — ha, Yolande, yield thee! Open! 
Open!” 

“Ah — mercy of God! Is it me they seek?” 
she whispered. 


221 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Thee, Yolande! To bear thee to their lord’s 
embraces-” 

“Rather will I die!” she cried, and snatched the 
dagger from his girdle. 

“Not so!” quoth he, wresting the weapon from 
her grasp. “Rather shalt thou live a while — for 
thou art mine — mine to-night, Yolande — come !” 
And he clasped her in fierce arms. “Nay, strive not 
lest I kiss thee to submission, for thou art mine, 
though it be for one brief hour and death the next! ” 
So, as she struggled for the dagger, he kissed her 
on mouth and eyes and hair until she lay all unre¬ 
sisting in his embrace; while ever and anon above 
the thunder of blow T s the night clamoured with the 
fierce shout: 

“Open — open ! Yolande, ha, Yolande !” 

“There is death — and worse!” she panted. 
“Loose me!” 

“Stay,” he laughed, “here thou ’rt in thy rightful 
place at last — upon my heart, Yolande. Now 
whither shall I bear thee ? Where lieth safety ?” 

“Loose me !” she commanded. 

“Never! Hark, there yields the good door at 
last!” 

“Then here will we die!” 

“So be it, Yolande! A sweet death thus, heart 
to heart and lip to lip ! ” 

“O Fool — I hate thee!” 

“Howbeit, Yolande — I love thee !” 

“Yolande! Ha —Yolande!” 

The cry was louder now and so near that she 
shivered and, hiding her face, spake below her 
breath: 

“The turret-stair — behind the arras of my bed !” 

Swiftly, lightly he bore her down the winding 
stair and by divers passage-ways until, thrusting 
222 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

open a narrow door, he found himself within the 
garden and, keeping ever amid the darkest shadows, 
hasted on to the postern hard by the lily-pool. 

And now Yolande felt herself swung to lofty 
saddle, heard Jocelyn’s warning shout drowned in 
a roar of voices and loud-trampling hoofs as the 
great horse reared, heard a fierce laugh and, looking 
up, saw the face above her grim and keen-eyed be¬ 
neath its foolish cock’s-comb as his vicious steel 
flashed to right and left, and ever as he smote he 
mocked and laughed: 

“Ha — well smitten. Lob ! Oho, here Folly rides 
with pointed jest keen and two-edged — make way, 
knaves — make way for Folly-” 

The snorting charger, wheeled by strong hand, 
broke free, whereon rose an uproar of shouts and 
cries that sank to a meaningless babble swept back¬ 
ward on the rush of wind. Away, away they sped, 
through moonlight and shadow, with fast-beating 
hoofs that rang on paved walk, that thudded on soft 
grass, that trampled the tender flowers; and Yolande, 
swaying to the mighty arm that clasped her, saw 
the fierce, scarred face bent above her with eyes 
that gleamed under scowling brows and mouth grim- 
smiling; and shivering, she looked no more. 

On they sped with loosened rein, o’er grassy mead, 
through ferny hollows, o’erleaping chattering rill 
that babbled to the moon, ’mid swaying reeds and 
whispering sedge, past crouching bush and stately 
tree, and so at last they reached the woods. By 
shadowy brake and thicket, through pools of radiant 
moonlight, through leafy, whispering glooms they 
held their way, across broad glade and clearing, 
on and on until all noise of pursuit was lost and 
nought was to hear save the sounds of their going. 

Thus rode they, and with never a word betwixt 
223 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

them, deep and deeper into the wild until the moon 
was down and darkness shut them in; wherefore 
Jocelyn drew rein and sat a while to listen. He 
heard the good steed, deep-breathing, snuff at dewy 
grass; a stir and rustle all about him; the drowsy 
call of a bird afar; the soft ripple of water hard by 
and, over all, the deep hush of the wild-wood. Then 
upon this hush stole a whisper: 

“O, ’tis very dark !” 

He : Dark, Lady ? Why so ’t is, and yet ’t is 
natural, for ’t is night, wherefore 5 t is the bright god 
Phoebus is otherwhere, and Dian, sly-sweet goddess, 
hath stole her light from heaven, wherefore ? t is ’t is 
dark, lady. 

She : Where are we ? 

He : The sweet Saints know that, lady — not I ! 

She (. scornfully) : Verily, thou art no saint- 

He : Not yet, lady, not yet — witness these ass’s 
ears. 

She : True, thou ’rt very Fool! 

He : In very truth, lady, and thou art lost with 
this same Fool, so art thou in very woeful case. As 
for me, a lost fool is no matter, wherefore Fool for 
himself grieveth no whit. But for thee — alas! 
Thou art a proud lady of high degree, very nice of 
thy dainty person, soft and delicate of body, so shall 
the greensward prove for thee uneasy couch, I judge, 
and thou sleep ill- 

She : Sleep ? No thought have I of sleep ! Ride 
on, therefore. Why tarry we here ? 

He : Lady, for three sufficing reasons — our foes 
pursue not, I’m a-weary, and J t is very dark- 

She : No matter ! Ride on, I do command thee. 

He : Aye, but whither ? 

She : I care not so thou leave this place; ’t is an 
evil place! 

224 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

He : Why, ’t is good place, very well secluded and 
with stream hard by that bubbleth. So here will 
we bide till dawn. Suffer me to aid thee down. 

She : Touch me not! Never think I fear thee 
though I am alone. 

He : Alone ? Nay, thou ’rt with me, that is — 
I am with thee and thou art with a Fool. So is 
Fool care-full Fool since Fool hath care of thee. 
Suffer me now to aid thee down since here wdll we 
w r ait the day. Come, my arm about thee so, thy 
hand in mine- 

She ( angrily) : O Fool most base — most vile- 

He : Nay, hush thee, hush! and listen to yon 
blithesome, bubblesome, babbling brook how it 
sigheth ’mid the willows, whispereth under reedy 
bank and laugheth, rogue-like, in the shallows! 
Listen how it wooeth thee: 

Though, lady, hard thy couch must be. 

If thou should’st wakeful lie, 

Here, from the dark, I ’ll sing to thee 
A drowsy lullaby. 

O lady fair — forget thy pride 
Whiles thou within the greenwood bide. 

And now suffer me to aid thee down. 

She : Why wilt thou stay me in this evil place ? 

He ( patiently) : The wild is ill travelling in the dark, 
lady ; there be quagmires and perilous ways — where¬ 
fore here must we bide till dawn. Suffer me to- 

She (breathlessly and shrinking from his touch): 
But I fear not quagmires — there be greater perils — 
more shameful and — and — ’t is so dark, so dark! 
’T is hateful place. Ride we till it be day- 

He {mockingly) : Perils, lady ? Why certes there 
be perils — and perils. Perils that creep and crawl, 
225 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

perils that go on four legs and perils two-legged — 
e’en as I. But I, though two-legged, am but very 
fool of fools and nothing perilous in blazing day or 
blackest night. So stint thy fears, lady, for here 
bide we till dawn ! 

Herewith he caught her in sudden arms and lifted 
her to the ground; then, dismounting, he set about 
watering and cherishing the wearied steed and 
tethered him beside a dim stream that rippled be¬ 
neath shadowy willows; and so doing, fell a-singing 
on this wise: 

“ 4 Fair lady, thou ’rt lost! ’ quoth he. 

Sing derry, derry down. 

4 And O, ’t is dark — ’t is dark !’ quoth she, 

4 And in the dark dire perils be,’ 

O, derry, derry down ! 

“Quoth he: ‘Fair lady, stint thy fear,’ 

Sing derry, derry down. 

4 1, being Fool, will sit me here, 

And, till the kindly sun appear, 

Sing derry, derry down. 

“‘I ’ll make for thee, like foolish wight. 

Hey, derry, derry down, 

A song that shall out-last dark night. 

And put thy foolish fears to flight 
With derry, derry down. 

“‘For ’tis great shame thou shouldst fear so, 

Hey, derry, derry down, 

A peril that two-legged doth go, 

Since he’s but humble Fool, I trow, 

With derry, derry down.’ ” 

226 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Thus sang he, a dim figure beside dim stream and, 
having secured the horse, sat him down thereby and 
took forth his lute. 

But Yolande, though he could not see, clenched 
white fists and, though he could not hear, stamped 
slim foot at him. 

“Joconde,” quoth she, betwixt clenched teeth, 
“ Joconde, I — scorn thee !” 

“Alack!” he sighed. “Alack, and my lute hath 
taken sore scath of a sword-thrust! ” 

“Thou ’rt hateful — hateful!” she cried. “Aye — 
hateful as thy hateful song, so do I contemn thee 
henceforth!” 

“Say’st thou so, lady, forsooth?” sighed he, 
busied with his lute. “Now were I other than Fool, 
here should I judge was hope of winning thy love. 
But being only Fool I, with aid of woe-begone lute, 
will sing thee merry song to cheer thee of thy perilous 
fears ** 

“Enough, ill Fool, I ’ll hear thee not!” 

“So be it, dear lady! Then will we sit an list 
to the song of yon stream, for streams and rivers, 
like the everlasting hills, are passing wise with length 
of days-” 

“And thou’rt a very Fool!” she cried angrily. 
“A fond Fool presumptuous in thy folly!” 

“As how presumptuous, proud lady?” he ques¬ 
tioned humbly. 

“In that thou dreamest I — stoop to fear 
thee!” 

“Aye, verily!” sighed he. “Alas, thou poor, 
solitary, foolish, fearful maid, thou art sick with 
fear of me! So take now my dagger! Thus Fool 
offenceless shall lie defenceless at thy mercy and, 
so lying, sleep until joyous day shall banish thy so 
virginal fears! ” Which saying, he tossed off belt 
22 7 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

and dagger and setting them beside her, rolled 
his weather-worn cloak about him, stretched him¬ 
self beneath the dim willows and straightway fell 
a-snoring. And after some while she questioned 
him in voice low and troubled: 

“O Joconde, art truly sleeping?” 

“Fair lady,” he answered, “let these my so loud 
snores answer thee.” 

Up sprang Yolande and, coming beside him in 
the gloom, cast back his girdle, speaking quick and 
passionate: 

“ Take back thy dagger lest I be tempted to 
smite it to the cruel, mocking heart of thee !” Then 
turned she stately back and left him, but, being hid 
from view, cast herself down full length upon the 
sward, her pride and stateliness forgotten quite. 
Now Jocelyn, propped on uneasy elbow, peered amid 
the gloom for sight of her and hearkened eagerly 
for sound of her; but finding this vain, arose and, 
creeping stealthily, presently espied her where she 
lay, face hidden in the dewy grass. Thus stood he 
chin in hand disquieted and anxious-eyed and wist 
not what to do. 

“Lady?” he questioned at last; but she stirred 
not nor spoke. “Yolande!” he murmured, draw¬ 
ing nearer; but still she moved not, though his quick 
ear caught a sound faint though very pitiful. “Ah, 
dost thou weep ? ” he cried. Yolande sobbed again, 
whereupon down fell he beside her on his knees, 
“Dear lady, why grievest thou?” 

“O Joconde,” she sighed, “I am indeed solitary — 
and fearful! And thou — thou dost mock me ! ” 

“Forgive me,” he pleaded humbly, “and, since 
thou ’rt solitary, here am I. And, for thy fears, 
nought is here shall harm thee, here may’st thou 
sleep secure-” 


228 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Stay, Joconde, the forest is haunted of wolves 
and — worse, ’t is said !” 

“Then will I watch beside thee till the day. And 
now will I go cut bracken for thy bed.” 

“Then will I aid thee.” So she arose forthwith 
and, amid the fragrant gloom, they laboured to¬ 
gether side by side; and oft in the gloom her hand 
touched his, and oft upon his cheek and brow and 
lip was the silken touch of her wind-blown hair. 
Then beneath arching willows they made a bed, 
high-piled of springy bracken and sweet grasses, 
whereon she sank nestling, forthwith. 

“O, ’tis sweet couch !” she sighed. 

“Yet thou’It be cold mayhap ere dawn,” quoth 
he, “suffer me to set my cloak about thee.” 

“But how of thyself, Joconde?” 

“I am a Fool well seasoned of wind and rain, 
heat and cold, lady, and’t is night of summer.” So 
he covered her with his travel-stained cloak and, 
sitting beneath a tree, fell to his watch. And oft 
she stirred amid the fern, deep-sighing, and he, 
broad back against the tree, sighed oftener yet. 

“Art there, Joconde?” she questioned softly. 

“Here, lady.” 

“’Tis very dark,” sighed she, “and yet, methinks, 
’t is sweet to lie thus in the greenwood so hushed and 
still and the stars to watch like eyes of angels.” 

“Why, ’tis night of summer, lady, a night soft 
and languorous and fragrant of sleeping flowers. 
But how of grim winter, how of rain and wind and 
lashing tempest — how think you ? ” 

“That summer would come again, Joconde.” 

“Truly here is brave thought, lady.” 

“Hark, how still is the night, Joconde, and yet full 
of soft stir, a sighing amid the leaves ! ’T is like the 
trees whispering one another. O, ’t is sweet night! ” 
229 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Soon to pass away, alas!” he sighed, where¬ 
upon she, stirring upon her ferny couch, sighed also; 
thereafter fell they silent awhile hearkening to the 
leafy stirrings all about them in the dark, and the 
slumberous murmur of the stream that, ever and 
anon, brake into faint gurglings like a voice that 
laughed, soft but roguish. 

She : I pray thee talk to me. 

He : Whereof, lady ? 

She: Thyself. 

He : I am a Fool- 

She : And why sit so mumchance ? 

He : I think. 

She : Of what ? 

He: Folly. 

She : And why dost sigh so deep and oft ? 

He : I grieve for thee. 

She : For me ! And wherefore ? 

He : Being lost with a Fool thou ’rt desolate, sad 
and woeful. 

She : Am I, Joconde ? And how dost know all 
this ? 

He : ’T is so I do think, lady. 

She : Then are thy thoughts folly indeed. If 
thou must sigh, sigh for thyself. 

He : Why so I do, lady, and therewith grieve for 
myself and thyself, myself being Fool and thyself a 
dame of high degree, thus, betwixt whiles, I do fear 
thee also. 

She : Thou fear ! Thou fear me forsooth ! And 
wherefore fear a helpless maid ? 

He : There is the reason — she is helpless ! 

She: Ah, there doth Fool speak like chivalrous 
knight. 

He : Or very fool — a fool that fain would win 
fair Dian from high heaven. Alas, poor Fool, that, 
230 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

being fool, must needs look and sigh and sigh and 
look and leave her to the winning of some young 
Endymion! 

She ( dreamily) : Endymion was but lowly shep¬ 
herd, yet was he loved ! 

He : Endymion was fair youth comely of feature, 
lady. Now had he worn ass’s ears ’bove visage 
scarred — how then ? On Ida’s mount he had been 
sighing forlorn and lonely yet, methinks. For 
maids’ hearts are ever governed by their eyes- 

She : Art so wise in maids’ hearts, Joconde ? 

He : Wise am I in this : No man may ever know 
the heart of a woman — and woman herself but 
seldom. 

Now here was silence again wherein Yolande, 
smiling, viewed him a dim shape in the gloom, and 
he leaned back to watch a star that twinkled through 
the leafy canopy above. 

She : Thou art Duke Jocelyn’s Fool at court ? 

He : I am Duke Jocelyn’s fool here and there and 
everywhere, lady. 

She : Yet have I heard Duke Jocelyn was a 
mighty man-at-arms and, though youthful, sober- 
minded, full of cares of state and kept no Fool at court. 

He : Lady, his court is filled o’ fools as is the way 
of other courts and amongst these many fools first 
cometh the Duke himself- 

She : How, and darest thou call this mighty Duke 
a fool ? 

He : Often, lady ! 

She : And what like is he ? 

He: Very like a man, being endowed of arms, 
legs, eyes, ears — of each two, no more and no less, 
as is the vulgar custom. 

She : But is he not of beauty high and noble, of 
god-like perfection far beyond poor, common flesh 
231 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

and blood ? ’T is so the painter has limned his face, 
’t is so I dream him to my fancy. 

He : Lady, I am but a Fool, let the picture answer 
thee. 

She : And he, this mighty Duke of god-like beauty 

doth woo me to his wife- 

He ( bitterly ) : With my tongue. 

She : Why came he not in his own glorious 
person ? 

He : Lady, though a Duke, he hath his moments 
of wisdom and argueth thus : “I, though a Duke, am 
yet a man. Thus, should I as Duke woo her, she 

may wed the Duke, loving not the man-” 

She : And so he sent a Fool as his ambassador! 

And so do I scorn this god-like Duke-. 

He : Ha ! Scorn him ! My lady — O Yolande, 
what of me ? 

She : Thou, false to him and faithless to thy trust, 
didst woo me for thyself which was ill in thee. But 
thou didst throw the terrible Red Gui into my lily- 
pool which was brave in thee. Thou didst endure 
chains and a prison undaunted which was noble in 
thee. Thou didst this night at peril of thy life save 
me from shame, but thou didst bear me ungently 
here into the wild, and in the wild here lie I beside 
thee, lost, yet warm and sleepy and safe beneath 

thy cloak — and so — 9 t is very well- 

He : Safe, Yolande ? Hath thy heart told thee 

this at last ? But thou didst fear me- 

She: Because to-night thou didst clasp me in 
cruel arms and spake me words of love passionate 

and fierce and — and- 

He : Kissed thee, Yolande ! 

She : Many times — O cruel! And bore me 
hither and lost me in these dark solitudes ! Here 
was good cause for any maid' to fear thee methinks. 
232 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Yet thou didst basely mock my fears with thy hateful 
song of “Derry down.” 

He : Because thy fears, being unjust, hurt me, 
for ah, Yolande, my love for thee is deep and true, 
and True-love is ever gentle and very humble. 

She : Thus do I fear thee no more, Joconde ! 

He : Because I am but lowly — a Fool beneath 
thy proud disdain ? 

She: Nay, Joconde. Because thou art indeed a 
very man. So now shall I sleep secure since nought 
of evil may come nigh me whiles I lie in thy care. 

Thus spake she softly ’mid the gloom, and turning 
upon her rustling couch sighed and presently fell 
to slumber. 

Now, sitting thus beside her as she slept, Jocelyn 
heard the stream ripple in the shadows like one that 
laughed soft but very joyously and, as he gazed up 
at the solitary star with eyes enraptured, this elfin 
laughter found its echo in his heart. 

A bird chirped drowsily from mazy thicket where 
sullen shadow thinned, little by little, until behind 
leaf and twig was a glimmer of light that waxed ever 
brighter. And presently amid this growing bright¬ 
ness w r as soft stir and twitter, sleepy chirpings 
changed to notes of wistful sweetness, a plaintive 
calling that was answered from afar. 

Thus the birds awaking sounded pretty warnings 
summoning each to each for that the day-spring was 
at hand, while ever the brightness changed to 
radiance and radiance to an orient glory and up 
flamed the sun in majesty and it was day. And now, 
from brake and thicket, from dewy mysteries of 
green boskage burst forth the sweet, glad chorus of 
bird-song, full throated, passionate of joy. 

And Jocelyn, sitting broad back against a tree, 

233 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

felt his soul uplifted thereby what time his eyes 
missed nothing of the beauties about him: the 
rugged boles of mighty trees bedappled with sunny 
splendour, the glittering dew that gemmed leaf and 
twig and fronded bracken, and the shapely loveliness 
of her who slumbered couched beneath his worn cloak, 
the gentle rise and fall of rounded bosom and the 
tress of hair that a fugitive sunbeam kissed to ruddy 
gold. Thus sat Jocelyn regardful, gladness in the 
heart of him, and a song of gladness bubbling to 
his lips. 

Suddenly he saw her lashes quiver, her rosy lips 
parted to a smile and, stirring in her slumber, she 
sighed and stretched shapely arms; so waked she 
to a glory of sun and, starting to an elbow, gazed 
round, great-eyed, until espying him, she smiled 
again. 

“ Good morrow, Joconde! Ne’er have I slept 
sweeter. But thou hast out-watched dark night 

and art a-weary, so shalt sleep awhile-” 

“Nay,” he answered, “a plunge in the stream 
yonder and I shall be blithe for the road — an we 
find one. And I do fear me thou ’rt hungry, Yolande, 

and I have nought to give thee-” 

“And what of thyself, man ? Verily, I read hunger 
in thy look and weariness also, so, an thou may’st 
not eat, sleep thou shalt awhile here — in my place.” 

“Nay, Yolande, indeed-” 

“Yea, but thou must indeed whiles I watch over 
thee. ’T is a sw r eet bed — come thy w r ays.” 

“And what wilt thou do?” he questioned. 
“Much!” she answered, viewing her rumpled 
gown with rueful eyes. “As thou sayest, there is 
the pool yonder! So come, get thee to bed and — 
sleep! Come, let me cover thee with thy cloak and 
gainsay me not; sleep thou must and shalt.” 

23 + 



The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

So Duke Jocelyn stretched himself obediently 
upon the bed of fern and suffered her to cover him 
with the cloak; but as she stooped above him thus, 
he lifted the hem of her dress to reverent lips. 

“My lady !” he murmured. “My dear lady !” 

“Now close me thine eyes, wearied child!” she 
commanded. And, like a child, in this also he 
obeyed her, albeit unwillingly by reason of her 
radiant beauty, but hearing her beside him, was 
content, and thus presently fell to happy sleeping. 

When he awoke the sun was high and he lay 
awhile basking in this grateful radiance and joying 
in the pervading quiet; but little by little, growing 
uneasy by reason of this stillness, he started up to 
glance about him and knew sudden dread for the 
little glade was empty — Yolande had vanished; 
moreover the horse was gone also. 

Cold with an awful fear he got him to his feet 
and looked hither and yon, but nowhere found any 
sign of violence or struggle. But like one distraught 
he turned to seek her, her name upon his lips, then, 
checking voice and movement, stood rigid, smitten 
by hateful doubt. For now it seemed to him that 
her gentle looks and words had been but sweet 
deceits to blind him to her purpose and now, so soon 
as she had lulled him to sleep, she had stolen away, 
leaving him for the poor, piteous fool he was. And 
now his despair was ’whelmed in sudden anger, and 
anger, little by little, changed to grief. She was 
fled away and he a sorry fool and very desolate. 

Full of these bitter thoughts he cast himself upon 
his face and, lying as in a pit of gloom, knew a great 
bitterness. 

Slowly, slowly, borne upon the gentle wind came 
a fragrance strange and unexpected, a savour de¬ 
lectable of cooking meat that made him know him- 

235 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

self a man vastly hungry despite his grievous woe. 
But, lying within the black gulf of bitterness, he 
stirred not until, of a sudden, he heard a voice, rich 
and full and very sweet, upraised in joyous singing; 
and these the words : 

“Rise, O laggard ! See the sun. 

To climb in glory hath begun: 

The flowers have oped their pretty eyes. 

The happy lark doth songful rise, 

And merry birds in flowery brake. 
Full-throated, joyous clamours make; 

And I, indeed, that love it not, 

Do sit alone and keel the pot. 

Whiles thus I sing thee to entreat, 

O sleepy laggard — come and eat! ” 

“Forsooth and art sleeping yet, Joconde?” the 
voice questioned. Duke Jocelyn lifted woeful head 
and saw her standing tall and shapely amid the 
leaves, fresh and sweet as the morn itself, with 
laughter within her dream-soft eyes and laughter 
on her vivid lips and the sun bright in the braided 
tresses of her hair wherein she had set wild flowers 
like jewels. 

“Yolande!” he murmured, coming to his knees, 
“ Yolande — how glorious thou art!” 

“Nay,” she laughed, yet flushing to the worship 
of his eyes, “and my habit woefully torn of wicked 
bramble-thorns, and my hair ill-braided and all un¬ 
combed and-” 

“Ah, Yolande, I thought thee fled and I left to 
loneliness, and my pain was very sore.” 

“Then am I avenged thy mockery, Joconde, and 
thy song of ‘Derry down.’ ’Twas for this I stole 
away! But now, if thou ’rt hungry man, come thy 
236 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

ways.” And she reached him her hand. So she 
brought him to a little dell where burned a fire of 
sticks beneath a pot whence stole right savoury 
odour. 

“O most wonderful!” quoth he. “Whence came 
these goodly viands ? ” 

“Where but from the wallet behind thy horse’s 
saddle, Joconde?” Then down sat they forthwith 
side by side and ate heartily and were very blithe 
together; and oft-times their looks would meet and 
they would fall silent awhile. At last, the meal 
ended, Jocelyn, turning from Yolande’s beauty to 
the beauty of the world around, spake soft-voiced: 

“ Yolande, were mine a selfish love, here, lost within 
these green solitudes, would I keep thee for mine 
own — to serve and worship thee unto my life’s end. 
But, since I count thy happiness above my dearest 
desires, now will I go saddle the horse and bear thee 
hence.” 

“Whither, Joconde, whither wilt thou bear me?” 

“Back to the world,” said he ruefully, “thy world 
of prideful luxury, to thy kindred.” 

“But I have no kindred, alas !” sighed she, stoop¬ 
ing to caress a daisy-flower that grew adjacent. 

“Why, then, thy friends-” 

“My friends be very few, Joconde, and Benedicta 
hath her husband.” 

“Yolande,” said he, leaning nearer, “whither 
should I bear thee?” 

“Nay,” saith she, patting the daisy with gentle 
finger-tip, “go thou and saddle thy horse, mayhap 
I shall know this anon. Go thou and saddle the 
horse.” So Jocelyn arose and having saddled and 
bridled the horse, back he cometh to find Yolande 
on her knees beside the stream, and she, hearing 
his step, bowed her head, hiding her face from him; 

237 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

now on the sward beside her lay the picture shattered 
beyond repair. 

“How,” said Jocelyn, “hast broken the Duke’s 
picture, lady!” 

“Thou seest!” she answered. 

“And must thou weep therefore?” said he a little 
bitterly. “ Oh, be comforted; ’t was but a toy—soon 
will I get thee another.” 

“An thou bring me another, Joconde, that will I 
break also.” 

“Ha — thou didst break it — wilfully, then?” 

“With this stone, Joconde.” 

“Wherefore, O wherefore?” he questioned eagerly. 

“For that it was but painted toy, even as thou 
sayest!” she answered. “Moreover, I — love not 
Duke Jocelyn.” 

“And’t was for this thou didst break the picture ?” 

“Nay, ’twas because these painted features may 
never compare with the face of him I love.” 

“And whom — whom dost thou love?” quoth 
he, in voice low and unsteady. Speaking not, she 
pointed with slender finger down into the placid 
stream. Wondering, he bent to look and thus from 
the stilly water his mirrored image looked back at 
him; now as he stooped so stooped she, and in this 
watery mirror their glances met. 

“Yolande?” he whispered. “O my lady, shall 
a Fool’s fond dream come true, or am I mad indeed ? 
Thou in thy beauty and I-” 

“Thou, Joconde,” said she, fronting him w T ith 
head proudly uplift, “to my thought thou art a 
man greater, nobler than any proud lord or mighty 
duke soever. And thou hast loved and wooed as 
never man wooed, methinks. And thou art so brave 
and strong and so very gentle and — thus it is — I 
do love thee.” 


238 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“But my — my motley habit, my-” 

“Thy cap of Folly, Joconde, these garments pied 
thou hast dignified by thy very manhood, so are 
they dearer to me than lordly tire or knightly armour. 
And thy jingling bells — ah, Joconde, the jingle of 
thy bells hath waked within my heart that which 
shall never die — long time my heart hath cried for 
thee, and I, to my shame, heeded not the cry, where¬ 
fore here and now, thus upon my knees, I do most 
humbly confess my love.” 

“Thy love, Yolande — for me? Then dost truly 
love me? Oh, here is marvel beyond my under¬ 
standing and belief.” 

“Why, Joconde, ah, why?” 

“Seel” he cried, flinging back his head. “Look 
now upon this blemished face — here where the 
cruel sun may shew thee all my ugliness, every 
scar — behold! How may one so beautiful as 
thou learn love for one so lowly and with face thus 
hatefully marred ? I have watched thee shrink from 
me ere now! I mind how, beside the lily-pool 
within thy garden, thou didst view me with eyes of 
horror ! I do mind thy very words — the first that 
e’er I heard thee utter: 

‘What thing art thou that ’neath thy hood doth 
show 

A visage that might shame the gladsome day ? ’ 

Yolande, Yolande, this poor blemished face is 
nothing changed since then; such as I was, such I 
am!” 

“Alas, Joconde!” she cried, reaching out her 
hands in passionate appeal. “My words were base, 
cruel — and hurt me now more, ah, much more, 
than e’er they wounded thee. For I do love thee 

239 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

with love as deep, as true as is thine own! Wilt 
not believe me?” 

“Oh, that I might indeed!” he groaned. “But — 
thou ’rt alone, far from thy home and friends, thy 
wonted pride and state forgotten all — mayhap 
thou dost pity me or mayhap ’t is thy gratitude in 
guise of love doth speak me thus ? But as thou art 
still thine own lovely self, so am I that same poor, 
motley Fool whose hateful face-” 

“ Joconde,” she cried, “hush thee—Oh, hush thee ! 
Thy words are whips to lash me!” and catching his 
hand she kissed it and cherished it ’gainst tear-wet 
cheek. “Ah, Joconde,” she sighed, “so wise and 
yet so foolish, know’st thou not thy dear, scarred 
face is the face of him I love, for love hath touched 
my eyes and I do see thee at last as thou truly art, 
a man great of soul, tender and strong-hearted. So 
art thou a man, the only man, my man. Oh, that I 
might but prove my love for thee, prove it to thee 
and before all men, no matter how, so I might but 
banish thy cruel doubts for ever. But now, for thy 
dear, scarred face-” 

Her soft, round arms were about his neck; and 
drawing him to her lips she kissed him, his scarred 
brow and cheek, his eyes, his lips grown dumb with 
wondering joy. Thus, lip to lip and with arms en¬ 
twined, knelt they beside that slow-moving stream 
that whispered softly beneath the bank and gurgled 
roguish laughter in the shallows. 

A dog barked faintly in the distance, a frog 
croaked hoarsely from the neighbouring sedge, but 
lost in the wonder of their love, they heeded only 
the beating of their hearts. 

“A-billing and a-cooing! A-cooing and a-billing, 
as I’m a tanner true!” exclaimed a hoarse voice. 
Up started Jocelyn, fierce-eyed and with hand on 
240 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

dagger-hilt, to behold a man with shock of red hair, 
a man squat and burly who, leaning on bow-stave, 
peered at them across the stream. 

“And is it Will the Tanner?” quoth Jocelyn, 
loosing his dagger. 

“None else, friend Motley.” 

“Why then, God keep thee! And now go about 
thy business.” 

“Marry, Fool, I am about my business, the which 
is to find thee. By Saint Nick, there’s mighty hue 
and cry for thee up and down within the greenwood, 
aye — marry is there, as I’m a tanner tried and true. 
So needs must thou along wi’ me.” 

“With thee, Tanner? And wherefore?” 

“Why, I know not wherefore, Fool, but must 
along. Here’s me and Lob and the potent hag that 
is Mopsa the Witch, lain a-watching and a-watching 
ye a-billing — nay, scowl not, friend Fool, on tanner 
trusty, tried and true. For hark now, here’s great 
stir, clamour and to-do within this forest-country 
for thee. Fool, the which is strange, seeing thou art 
but a motley fool. Howbeit there be many great 
lords and knights from beyond the Southern March 
a-seeking of thee, Fool.” 

“Ha!” quoth Jocelyn, frowning. “Envoys from 
Brocelaunde!” 

“Alas, Joconde, and seeking thee !” saith Yolande 
in troubled voice. 

“Moreover,” continued Will, “here 9 s our Duke 
Pertinax and his lady Duchess yearning for thee, 
here’s Robin that is Sir Robert a-clamouring for 
thee and all his goodly foresters, as myself, a-seeking 
thee.” 

“But’t is I found thee, Sir Long-legged Fool, I — 
I!” croaked a voice, and old Mopsa the Witch 
peered at them from a bush hard by. 

241 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“Verily, thou hast found us!” quoth Jocelyn 
ruefully. “And what now ?” 

“Oho!” cried the Witch, cracking her finger- 
bones. “Now go I hot-foot to weave spells and en¬ 
chantments, aha — oho ! Spells that shall prove 
the false from the true, the gold from the dross. 
Thou, Sir Fool, art doubting lover, so art thou blind 
lover ! I will resolve thee thy doubts, open thy eyes 
and show thee great joy or bitter sorrow — oho! 
Thou, proud lady, hast stooped to love a motley 
mountebank — nay, flash not thy bright eyes nor 
toss haughty head at an old woman — but here is 
solitude with none to mock thy lowly choice or cry 
thee shame to love a motley Fool, aha! And thou 
would’st fain prove thy love True-love, says thou? 
Why, so thou shalt — beyond all doubting now and 
for ever, aha — oho! Truest of true or falsest of 
false. Beware. Farewell, and remember : 

“Follow Folly and be wise. 

In such folly wisdom lies. 

Love’s blind, they say; but Love hath eyes, 

So follow Folly, follow. 

Hither-ho, Lob-Lobkyn ! Lend thine old granddam 
thine arm. Come, my pretty bantling, sweet poppet 
— come and — away!” So spake old Mopsa the 
Witch, and vanished into the green with Lobkyn, 
who turned to flourish his club in cheery salutation 
ere he plunged into the underbrush. Then Jocelyn 
smiled down on Yolande to find her pale and trem¬ 
bling, so would he have clasped her to his heart, but 
a hand grasped him and, turning, he beheld the 
Tanner at his elbow. 

“Friend Fool,” quoth he, “needs must I take thee 
to Robin that Sir Robert is, e’en as he did com- 
242 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

mand, so come now thy ways with trusty tanner 
tried.” 

‘‘Off, Red-head !” saith Jocelyn, frowning a little. 
“Away now, lest this my dagger bite thee.” Back 
leapt Will into the stream whence he had come, and 
there standing, clapped bugle to lip and winded it 
lustily, whereupon came divers fellows running, bow 
in hand, who beset Jocelyn on every side. 

“Now yield thee to Tanner, friend,” quoth Will, 
knee-deep in the stream, “for no mind have I to 
hurt thee. So away with thy dagger like gentle, 
kindly Fool, and away with thee to Sir Robin.” 

Now hereupon, as Jocelyn frowned upon them, 
Yolande, standing a-tiptoe, kissed his scarred cheek 
and clasped his dagger-hand in soft fingers. 

“Come,” she pleaded, “they be a-many, so yield 
me thy dagger and let us go with them, beloved!” 
At the whispered word Jocelyn loosed the dagger 
and, clasping her instead, kissed her full-lipped. 
Then turned he to his captors. 

“I’m with thee. Will, thou — tanner!” quoth 
he. “And now bring hither the horse for my lady’s 
going.” 

“Nay,” answered Will, scratching red head, 
“Rob — Sir Robert spake nothing of horse for thee, 
or lady.” 

“Nor will I ride, Joconde,” she murmured happily, 
“rather will I trudge beside thee, my hand in thine 
— thus!” 

So, hand in hand, they went close-guarded by 
their captors yet heeding them not at all, having 
eyes but for each other. And oft her cheek flushed 
rosy beneath his look, and oft he thrilled to the 
warm, close pressure of her fingers; and thus tramped 
they happy in their captivity. 

The sun rose high and higher, but since for them 

243 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

their captors were not, neither was fatigue; and, 
if the way was rough there was Jocelyn’s ready hand, 
while for him swamps and brooks were a joy since 
he might bear her in his arms. Thus tramped they 
by shady dingle and sunny glade, through marshy 
hollows and over laughing rills, until the men began 
to mutter their discontent, in especial a swart, hairy 
wight, and Will, glancing up at the sun, spake : 

“Two hours, lads, judge I.” 

“Nigher three, Tanner, nigher three!” growled 
the chief mutterer. 

“Why so much the better, Rafe, though two was 
the word. Howbeit we be come far enow, I judge, 
and ’t is hot I judge, so hey for Robin — and a 
draught o’ perry!” 

“Art thou weary, my Yolande?” 

“Nay, is not thy dear arm about me!” 

“And — thou dost love me indeed?” 

“Indeed, Joconde! Mine is a love that ever 
groweth-” 

A horn’s shrill challenge; a sound of voices, and 
below them opened a great, green hollow, shady 
with trees beneath whose shade were huts of wattle 
cunningly wrought, a brook that flowed sparkling, 
and beyond caves hollowed in the steepy bank. 

“How now, Tanner Will,” questioned Jocelyn, 
“hast brought us to the outlaw’s refuge?” 

“Not so, good friend-Fool, not outlaws, foresters 
we of Duke Pertinax, and yonder, look ’ee, cometh 
Rob — Sir Robert to greet ye!” And the Tanner 
pointed where one came running, a man long of leg, 
long of arm and very bright of eye, a goodly man clad 
in hood and jerkin of neat’s leather as aforetime, 
only now his bugle swung from baldrick of gold and 
silver and in his hood was brooched a long scarlet 
feather. 


244 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

“What brother!” cried he joyously. “By saint 
Nicholas, ’tis sweet to see thee again, thou lovely 
Fool!” And he clasped Jocelyn in brotherly em¬ 
brace, which done, he stood off and shook doleful 
head. “Alas, brother!” quoth he. “Alas! my 
prisoner art thou this day, wherefor I grieve, and 
wherefor I know not save that it is by my lady 
Benedicta’s strict command and her I must obey.” 
And now, turning to Yolande, he bared his head, 
louting full low. “Lady,” quoth he, “by thy rare 
and so great beauty I do know thee for Yolande the 
Fair, so do we of the wild give thee humble greeting. 
Here may’st thou rest awhile ere we bring thee to 
Canalise.” 

“But, messire,” answered Yolande, clasping 
Jocelyn’s hand, “no mind have I to go to Canalise.” 

“Then alack for me, fair lady, for needs must I 
carry thee there within the hour along of my motley 
brother. Meanwhile here within yon bower thou 
shalt find cushions to thy repose, and all things to 
thy comfort and refreshment.” 

“O Sir Robert! O for a comb !” she sighed. 

“Expectant it waiteth thee, lady, together with 
water cool, sweet-perfumed essences, unguents and 
other nice, lady-like toys. Moreover, there be 

mirrors two of Venice and in pretty coffer -” 

But Yolande had vanished. 

Hereupon Robin led the way into a cool, arras- 
hung cave where was table set out with divers 
comfortable things both eatable and drinkable. 

Quoth Jocelyn, hunger and thirst appeased: 
“And now good Robin, what do these envoys from 
Brocelaunde? Why am I thy prisoner and where¬ 
fore must I to Canalise?” 

“Ha!” saith Robin, cocking merry eye, “and 
thy name is Joconde, the which is an excellent name, 

245 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

brother, and suiteth thee well, and yet — hum! 
Howbeit, friend, remember Robin loved thee for 
the Fool he found thee, that same Fool foolish enow 
to spare a rogue his life. Dost mind my Song o’ 
Rogues? A good song, methinks, tripping merrily 
o’ the tongue: 

“T ’ll sing a song 
Not over long, 

A song o’ roguery, 

For I’m a rogue, 

And thou ’rt a rogue, 

And so, in faith is he.’ 

I mind thy fierce, hawk-nosed gossip in rusty jack 
and ragged cloak, his curses! Troth brother, ’t is 
a world of change methinks, this same fierce, cursing, 
hook-nose rogue a noble knight and to-day my lord 
Duke ! I, that was poor outlaw, knight-at-arms and 
lord warden, and thou — a motley Fool still — and 
my prisoner. How say’st thou, brother?” 

“Why I say, Robin, that my three questions wait 
thy answers!” 

“Verily, brother, and for this reason. I am a 
knight and noble, and so being have learned me 
policy, and my policy is, when unable to give answer 
direct to question direct, to question myself direct 
thus directing question to questions other or to 
talk of matters of interest universal, so do I of thyself 
and myself speak. And talking of myself I have on 
myself, of myself, of myself made a song, and these 
the words, hark ’ee: 

“Now Rob that was Robin Sir Robert is hight 
Though Rob oft did rob when outlaw, 

Since outlaw now in law is dubbed a good knight, 
Robin’s robbing is done, Rob robbeth no more. 
246 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Fair words brother, I think, and yet a little sad. 
‘But,’ says you in vasty amaze, ‘my very noble and 
right potent Sir Robert/ says you, ‘if thou art in¬ 
deed noble knight, wherefore go ye devoid of mail, 
surcoat, cyclas, crested helm, banderol, lance, shield 
and the like pomps and gauds?’ ‘Brother,’ says I, 
‘habit is habit and habit sticketh habitual, and my 
habit is to go habited as suiteth my habit, suiting 
habit o’ body to habit o’ mind.’ Thus I, though Sir 
Robert, am Robin still, and go in soft leather ’stead 
of chafing steel, and my rogues, loving Robin, love 
Sir Robert the better therefor, as sayeth my song in 
fashion apt and pertinent: 

“Since habit is habit, my habit hath been 
To wear habit habitually comely — 

Ha, there soundeth the mustering note, so must we 
away and I sing no further, which is well, for ‘comely ’ 
is an ill word to rhyme with. Howbeit here must I, 
beginning my song o’ Robin, of beginning must Rob 
make an end, for duty calleth Sir Robert, so must 
Robin away.” 

Hereupon he clapped horn to lip at which shrill 
summons came archers and pikemen ranked very 
orderly about a fair horse-litter. But Yolande 
coming radiant from the bower and espying the 
litter, shook her head. Quoth she : 

“An thou go afoot, Joconde, so will I.” 

The sun was low when they came before the walls 
of Canalise, and passing beneath grim portcullis 
and through frowning gateway, with ring and tramp, 
crossed the wide market square a-throng with 
jostling townsfolk, who laughed and pointed, cheered 
and hooted, staring amain at Jocelyn in his thread¬ 
bare motley; but Yolande, fronting all eyes with 
247 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

proud head aloft, drew nearer and held his hand in 
firmer clasp. 

Thus they came at last to the great courtyard 
before the palace, bright with the glitter of steel, 
where men-at-arms stood mustered. Here Robin 
halted his company, whereon rose the silvery note 
of a clarion, and forth paced the dignified Chief 
Herald, who spake him full-toned and sonorous : 

“In the name of our potent Duke Pertinax and 
his gracious lady Benedicta, I greet thee well, Sir 
Robert-a-Forest. Now whom bring ye here? Pro¬ 
nounce !” 

“Dan Merriment, Sir Gravity,” answered Robin, 
“a Fool valiant and wise, a maker of songs, of quips 
and quiddities many and jocund, Joconde hight. 
Sir Wisdom, Folly behold, himself here in propria 
persona .” 

The Chief Herald gestured haughtily with his 
wand whereupon forth stepped a file of soldiers and 
surrounded Jocelyn. 

“Ah, Joconde! What meaneth this?” said 
Yolande, in troubled voice. 

“Indeed, my lady, I know not!” he answered. 
“But let not thy brave heart fail thee.” 

“Ah, Joconde, I fear for thee — whither would 
they lead thee? Nay, sweet heaven, they shall not 
take thee from me !” 

“Fear not, beloved, though they part us awhile.” 

“Away with the Motley!” thundered the Chief 
Herald, flourishing his wand. 

“Yolande — O my beloved, fear not -” But 

even as he spake, the pikemen closed in, and Jocelyn 
was hustled away; so stood she trembling, hands 
clasped and eyes wide and fearful, until tall motley 
figure and flaunting cock’s-comb were lost to her 
sight and the jingle of his bells had died away; then, 
248 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

finding herself alone and all men’s eyes upon her, 
she lifted bowed head and stood white-cheeked and 
proudly patient, waiting for what might betide. 

And presently was distant stir that, growing nearer, 
swelled to the ring and clash of armour and the 
trampling of many hoofs; and presently through 
the great gateway rode many knights sumptuously 
caparisoned, their shields brave with gilded ’scutch¬ 
eons, pennon and bannerole a-flutter above nodding 
plumes, and over all the Red Raven banner of 
Brocelaunde. So rode they two-and-two until the 
great courtyard blazed with flashing steel and 
broidered surcoats. And now a trumpet blared, and 
forth before this glorious array a pursuivant rode 
and halted to behold Pertinax, who stepped forth 
of the great banqueting-hall leading his fair Duchess 
by the hand, and behind them courtiers and ladies 
attendant. 

Once again the trumpets rang, and lifting his hand, 
the pursuivant spake: 

“My Lord Duke Pertinax, most gracious Duchess, 
Jocelyn the high and mighty Lord Duke of Broce¬ 
launde greeteth you in all love and amity, and hither 
rideth to claim a fair lady to wife. Behold our Lord 
Duke Jocelyn!” 

Loud and long the trumpets blew as into the court¬ 
yard rode a single horseman ; tall was he and bedight 
in plain black armour and white surcoat whereon 
the Red Raven glowed; but his face was hid in 
vizored helm. So rode he through his glorious array 
of knights, checking his fiery steed to gentle gait 
with practised hand, while thus spake the pursuivant: 

“Behold here Jocelyn, Duke of Brocelaunde, to 
claim this day in marriage the Lady Yolande ac¬ 
cording to her word.” 

“Stay, my lords !” cried a sweet, clear voice, and 

249 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

forth before them all stood Yolande herself, pale¬ 
cheeked but stately of bearing and very bright of 

eye. 

“Be it known to all here that I, Yolande, have 
given neither pledge nor troth unto Duke Joce¬ 
lyn -” 

Now here was silence sudden and profound that 
none dared break saving only the haughty Chief 
Herald. 

“How lady, how,” quoth he, “no pledge, no troth, 
quotha-” 

“Neither one nor other, messire, nor shall there 
ever be-” 

“Here is madness, lady, madness-” 

“Here is truth, messire, truth; I may not pledge 
my troth with Duke Jocelyn since I have this day 
pledged myself unto Duke Jocelyn’s jester-” 

“Jester, lady, jester? Venus aid us — Cupid 
shield us! A jester, a Fool, a motley mountebank, 
a-” 

“Aye!” cried Yolande. “All this is he, my lords. 
Very humble and lowly — yet do I love him! Oh, 
’t is joy — ’t is joy to thus confess my love — his cap 
and bells and motley livery are fairer to me than 
velvet mantle or knightly armour; he is but humble 
jester, a Fool for men’s scorn or laughter, yet is he 
a man, so do I love him and so am I his : — unto the 
end. My lords, I have no more to say save this — 
give me my jester — this man I love — and suffer 
us to go forth hand in hand together, even as we 
came.” 

The Duchess Benedicta uttered a soft, glad cry, 
and seizing her husband’s arm, shook it for very 
joy. But now, as Yolande fronted them all, pale 
and proudly defiant, was the ring of a mailed foot, 
and turning, she shrank trembling to see Duke 
250 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

Jocelyn hasting toward her, his black armour glint¬ 
ing, his embroidered surcoat fluttering, his long arms 
outstretched to her; thus quick-striding he came but, 
even as she put out shaking hands to stay him, he 
fell upon his knee before her. 

“Most brave and noble lady — beloved Yolande,” 
he cried, and lifted his vizor. Now beholding the 
scarred face of him, the tender, smiling lips, the 
adoration in his grey eyes, she trembled amain and, 
swaying to him, rested her hands on his mailed 
shoulders. 

“Joconde,” she whispered, “ah, Joconde — what 
dream is this ?” 

“Nay, beloved, the dream is ended and findeth 
me here at thy feet. The dream is past and we do 
wake at last, for thy motley Fool, thy Duke and 
lover am I, yet lover most of all. And thou who in 
thy divine mercy stooped to love the Fool, by that 
same love shalt thou lift Duke Jocelyn up to thee 
and heaven at last. And Oh, methinks the memory 
of thy so great and noble love shall be a memory 
fragrant everlastingly.” 

So speaking, Duke Jocelyn rose, and with her 
hand fast in his, looked from her loveliness round 
about him, blithe of eye. 

“My lords,” cried he, “behold my well-beloved, 
brave-hearted lady. Nobles of Brocelaunde, salute 
your Duchess Yolande.” 

Hereupon was shout on shout of joyous acclaim, 
lost all at once in the sweet, glad clamour of bells 
pealing near and far; so, hand in hand, while the 
air thrilled with this merry riot, they crossed the 
wide courtyard, and she flushed ’neath the worship 
of his look and he thrilled to the close, warm pressure 
of her fingers — thus walked they betwixt the ranks of 
men-at-arms and glittering chivalry, yet saw them not. 
251 


The Geste of Duke Jocelyn 

But now Yolande was aware of Benedicta’s arms 
about her and Benedicta’s voice in her ear. 

“Dear my Yolande, so True-love hath found thee 
at last since thou wert brave indeed and worthy. 
Come now and let me deck thee to thy bridal.” 

“Lord Duke,” quoth Pertinax, “here methinks 
was notable, worthy wooing.” 

“Aha!” quoth Mopsa the Witch, crackling her 
knuckle-bones. “Here, my children, is wooing that 
some fool shall strive to tell tale of some day, may¬ 
hap ; but such love is beyond words and not to be 
told. Thus by cunning contrivement hath Mopsa 
the old Witch proved the true from the false, the 
gold from the dross; thou, my lady, hast proved thy 
love indeed, and thou, Lord Duke, may nevermore 
doubt such love. And now away and wed each 
other to love’s fulfilment — hark where the bells do 
summon ye.” 

And thus, as evening fell, they were wed within 
the great Minster of Canalise, and thereafter came 
they to the banqueting-hall with retinue of knights 
and nobles. Last of all strode Robin with his 
foresters, and as they marched he sang a song he 
had learned of Jocelyn, and these the words : 

“What is love? ’Tis this, I say. 

Flower that springeth in a day. 

Ne’er to die or fade away. 

Since True-love dieth never. 

“Though youth alas ! too soon shall wane. 
Though friend prove false and effort vain. 
True-love all changeless shall remain 
The same to-day and ever.” 


The End 




















































































































































































































































































































































































































JUH 24 


JUL 23 l 

JUL3G 3 
AUG 8 4 

AUG 1 9 1 















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K 


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FEB 5 1920 



































